


Rosemary Malfoy and The Philosopher's Stone

by EdytheCullen



Series: Rosemary Malfoy and The Girl in Green [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Maurauders are there, Multi, Racism, Read at Own Risk, Slytherin aint bad, There's lesbians, anti prejudice, banshee - Freeform, cedric is really hot, double pov, draco malfoy has a hot sister, gryffindors are bad, like just read please, lucius malfoy is not, narcissa malfoy is trying, parsletongue asf, pet snakes, shadow powers ish, someone finally calls snape out, twin witch and wizard, we love lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 111,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdytheCullen/pseuds/EdytheCullen
Summary: Rosemary Malfoy has always been cast under her twin's shadow--from taking the blame to being neglected, Rose must find a way to fit into what her family wants for her while also finding a way to fit in for what she wants. Only, what the hell does she want? Why, to be good of course. Too bad she's a snake charmer.All rights to Jk Rowling, except my characters :)





	1. Rosemary Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived

The Boy Who Lived was a boy with very messy hair, Rose thought upon first seeing him. Of course, she had not realized it was him but just a very skinny boy, with messy black hair and sparkling green eyes. Yes, he seemed to be alone and very amazed by everything—probably a mudblood. She did not approach him because of this conclusion—she could only think of her father’s reaction. It was her brother who said something to him.  
  
"Hello," Draco had said, "Hogwarts, too?"  
  
Draco and Rose were left in the robes’ shop by their parents, whom had left to pick up their children’s books and they would all meet up to acquire wands. The twins took turns to have their robes altered, Rose’s needing to be very precisely made at her very small frame. She was a good inch or two shorter than the average witch, aged 11. She was now looking at headbands that matched the robes she had already been placed for, wondering if she would be able to cut her hair a slight bit to have no need for any headband but knew it was not plausible. Her mother adored her long, silvery blonde hair that matched hers. She had been looking on through the hairpieces when the skinny, black haired boy stepped into the shop.  
  
Her eyes moved swiftly from his guardian that moved along the street walk and back to the boy. He moved forward, seeming very nervous to be on his own in a shop. There wasn’t any crowd in the shop, most kids having gotten their uniforms earlier in the morning. "Hogwarts, dear?" the witch working asked. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”  
  
The boy moved along with her and stood on the stool next to Rose’s twin and Rose moved closer to her brother. “Hello,” Draco offered. “Hogwarts, too?”  
  
"Yes," said he boy.  
  
"Our father’s next door buying our books and mother's up the street looking at wands," Draco said, nodding to Rose. The boy’s eyes glanced to her and she smiled lightly, concluding that, yes, he was definitely a mudblood not to recognized the two siblings. "Then we’re going to go look at the racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. My sister and I practice enough not to get ourselves killed enough that I think my father will buy us one and my sister will smuggled them in. She’s very good at finding ways to sneak things.” Rose rolled her eyes—it was true, but it sounded like he was boasting.  
  
"Have you got your own broom?" Rose asked him.  
  
"No," said Harry.  
"Do you play Quidditch at all?" She was sure he was a mudblood if he answered no—most kids were all familiar with the rules and tactics.  
"No," The boy said and confirmed her conclusion of him being mudbood.  
  
"Our mum taught us—she was captain in her days.” Rose said proudly.  
  
“Father says it's a crime if we’re not picked to play for our house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"  
  
"No," said the boy again. Rose started feeling bad. Draco would not let him off if he did not reply.  
  
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Draco said with an amused laughed.  
  
“I wouldn’t mind being in either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.” Rose said thoughtfully. All her tutors had told her she’d been good among the wise Ravenclaw, though apparently they were the worst at academics. She was aiming for prefect though, so she prioritized academics. She imagined her father’s smile and congratulations once she did become prefect. “I do like the Gryffindor colors.” She added. She had always enjoyed the bold colors and thought they suited their values well—brave and bold. She didn’t think herself to be described as so but oh well. She wouldn’t belong there either way. “They don’t suit my hair though,” She whispered sullenly.  
  
“You’re hair’s nice,” the boy said and she smiled once more at him. Mudblood or not, he was nice enough.  
  
"I say, look at that man!" Draco exclaimed suddenly, nodding toward the front window. The man that had left the boy was back, now holding two large cones of ice creams.  
  
“Ooh, Draco I’m gonna ask Mum for ice cream—would you like some?” Rose asked, smiling at the prospect. They didn’t usually have the creamy dessert at home and only had some on birthdays and holidays.  
  
"That’s not what I meant—look at him, Rose, he seems like an entire bloke to me.”  
  
“That's Hagrid," said the boy with a sense of pride. "He works at Hogwarts." At this, she glanced at the man again. He didn’t seem like any professor, not with his mountain hiker appearance, but didn’t think it impossible.  
  
“Isn’t he some sort of assistant?” Rose questioned, remembering what her father had said of the man—this man did not seem as if though he belonged in Hogwarts. She’d been taught that anyone respectable must look respectable. This man did not, with a long mane of shaggy black hair and a beard that covered most of his face and very ungroomed.  
  
"No," Draco said, "No, I hear he's a sort of servant, isn't he?"  
  
"He's the gamekeeper," The boy said, and there seemed to be a fine edge of irritation laced through his voice.  
  
“He seems rather—” Rose tried but Draco interrupted her.  
  
“Like a savage to me. I heard he is, anyway. He lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." He told the boy.  
  
"Surely he’s not a savage, Draco. Not if Professor Dumbledore has hired him.” Rose said with indifference—as long as she didn’t need to deal with any class he wouldn’t teach, she was fine with him only as gamekeeper.  
  
“I think he's brilliant," said the boy coldly. Rose watched him carefully, and then wondered why he was with the man named Hagrid. She had heard of his name highly associated with the headmaster, so why had he come with some random boy, a mudblood boy…unless she had judged too quickly. Was he mudblood? He was wearing a strange assortment of oversized muggle clothing and big glassed, half hidden under his hair and then something else hidden under his hair—her eyes widened. Was this…?  
  
"Do you?" Draco sneered. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"  
  
"They're dead," The boy said, confirming who he actually was.  
  
"I’m sorry," Rose said before Draco could say anything furtherly stupid. “Was your father a pureblood, by chance?” She asked, hopping she didn’t sound obvious.  
  
“I don’t know—I know both my parents were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." He said indifferently. She nodded, averting her eyes from his green ones.  
  
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways.  
Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.” She recognized their father speaking and looked down. “What's your surname, anyway?"  
But before Harry (she knew his name was) could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's done, my dear," and Draco hopped down from the footstool.  
  
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," he said, taking a step but stopping, waiting for his sister.  
  
“I’ll be right out,” She said, nodding to the hair pieces. “Tell Father I’ll be but a minute.” Draco nodded, threw one more glance at Harry, who was now rather quiet, and walked up and out the shop.  
  
For a moment, she stared at the headband. Then, as she heard Madam Malkin walk out to the back for something, she turned quickly. “I’m sorry if my brother was rude—and I’m sorry about your parents. James and Lily Potter was it?” She smiled lightly, brandishing her dimples. “I hear they were superb wizards. Very well liked—I hope we could friends in Hogwarts.” She offered her hand and he did not shake it, seeming very surprised. She dropped her hand. “My name is Rose, Rosemary. Your parents were Gryffindor, by the way. I wasn’t sure if you knew or not.”  
  
He stayed quiet. She nodded, still smiling.  
  
“You father won the Quidditch cup, my mother says she played against him more than once. She played too.”  
  
Again, silence. He stared at her with green eyes, and she stared back. Finally, she turned, put three headbands down with Draco’s robes and turned again. “I hope to see you on the train.”  
  
And she hoped she hadn’t turned too red when she left the shop. God, why did she talk so much? Why couldn’t she leave the poor boy alone? He probably thought she was a nutter—and if her father found out? Oh God.  
  
She found her mother before she found her brother or father. She brushed down her hair as they made their up one shop to the wand shop, where her brother was already in the midst of getting his picked. Her father turned at their appearance. “Robes chosen?” She nodded. “I should assume you picked out the green pieces?” She nodded once more. “I want to see you two wear them neatly. You will not be the two who will bring shame to our family name.” Rose, once more, nodded.  
  
To both the children’s joy, they did end up getting ice cream to their mother’s suggestion and talked over the Slytherin common room expectations. “It’s a tradition to learn sign language, as the house is right under the lake, and there is a wall that overlooks the lake. The mer-people sometimes come to the window and we can only communicate by using sign language. You’ll find it very useful, trust me, my flower.” Her mother said, stroking her hair.  
  
She was often told she was a perfect picture of her mother, with a long waterfall of white hair, porcelain skin and handsome blue eyes that shifted shades from grey to dark sapphire. She tied her hair like her mother did, and was taught every up do by her mother. She was rather good at it, and found it very fun. She also liked her hair up, it was so pretty. Being told she looked like her mother was one of the greatest compliments she could receive.  
  
The summer stretched out for Rose and Draco with tutors and Quidditch practice with their mum, putting on their robes and practice with small spells with their new wands. Rose was very good with potions, and very good with identifying most potions. She’s also very good with weather magic, and elemental magic. She often practiced her earth magic of the elemental magic in the garden, and after hours, as to not be caught by her father. He had inquired on more than one account how weak and useless earth magic was, especially floral. She didn’t think her magic was limited to just earth magic, but she didn’t dare try practicing any other element.  
September first was quickly drawing closer and closer, with every morning came hotter and hotter until it was the last week of August. Rosemary, in the garden with floral prints both at her feet and on her dress, was wasting away her afternoon with her books. The study of flowers was something her brother teased her about being such a feminine practice that she kept it hidden. Though she and Draco promised to not tell on each other since the great incident of breaking their mum’s broom. Rose had made a good time of mending it and Draco had made good at distracting and evading.  
  
“Practicing, are we?” Narcissa Malfoy inquired, stepping into the garden and spotting her young daughter. Rosemary looked up as her mother approached and stood, clasping her hands together and nodding. Her mother laughed, stroking her hair lovingly, pushing back strands of silvery hair behind her ears, showcasing her new earrings. “Oh, my lovely girl, tell me of your worries.”  
  
Rosemary usually was very good in showing other people what she wanted, but her emotion barrier seemed to melt away around her mother and father—her mother had a more talent in reading it. “Your lips always pout,” was the explanation of how she knew she was in deep thought. Now, it was much too easy.  
  
“I was just…” Rosemary sighed. “Worrying about the—well, the Sorting Ceremony.”  
  
The Sorting Ceremony took place on the evening of arrival of all Hogwarts students, but only involved the first years. The Sorting Hat would be placed upon their heads and sort them by looking through their heads and deciding where amongst the four houses they belonged. “Ah,” Her mother nodded, trailing towards a stone bench amongst the red roses, “And what about the Sorting Ceremony?” She trailed her hands amongst the roses, touching it only with her fingertips.  
  
“Well,” Rosemary started, looking at her feet. This was her mother—the closest person she had, the one who always made her feel better about herself when she failed at reaching her father’s expectations, the person who got her her favorite chocolate on Sunday mornings and who taught her to plat Quidditch. But her mother was also Slytherin and was very proud of being one. “Well, I’m not sure I’ll be placed in Slytherin.”  
  
She awaited a wrath but found none. Looking up, she saw her mother smiling still. “Yes, I can understand that fear.” She picked her a rose, and held her other arm out for her. Rose went immediately to her side and let her place the white rose in her hair with enchantment. “I was too, when my own Sorting came. Nervous as a cat, I was. I knew my place as a Slytherin, my entire family were Slytherins. But for a moment, the Sorting Hat considered me in Hufflepuff.”  
  
Rose turned to her mother violently, “What?”  
  
Her mother continued smiling, “Now, don’t act so opposed. Don’t tell your father, but I was very loyal. Dangerously loyal, I talked my way into Slytherin.”  
  
“You can talk the Sorting Hat into your preferred house?” This idea scared Rose—and fascinated her. She was never a good person to have on your side during an argument. Her opinions were not strong and she was not usually allowed to speak during arguments—though there were hardly any to give her a chance.  
  
“Oh, I don’t suppose so but the fact that I tried must have made the hat conclude I belonged in Slytherin. It was my goal to be in Slytherin and my ambient ruled over my loyalty.” She spoke, and her eyes seemed very far away now. “But Hufflepuff, despite what your father thinks and says, is not all that bad.”  
  
Rose considered these words, added in with surprise. She had been taught that there had only been Slytherin for her—it was her one and only choice if she wanted to be apart of this family. And yet—here was her mother, telling her not to be afraid of other houses? “They are the kind ones, right? The ones who see equality over everyone.”  
  
“Another mistake—you do not need to be kind. You need to be hardworking, and fair, yes, but its above kindness. Its stubbornness and wanting to work hard to get somewhere. Slytherin is just getting somewhere no matter what, I believe. Ambience over hard work.” She said. “Ravenclaw are not those who inquire after intelligence and wisdom—they possess it by being themselves. Creativity and ambience end up seeming as if though they did something because it was smart. It’s the flow of how they are themselves. Gryffindors—hard to explain them. You must come up with one should you understand them.”  
  
She thought about this for a long time that night, and the rest of the week. She felt slightly better, until her father sat them down the night before they would head to the Hogwarts Express train. It was bottom line a normal, blood running speech, on how they must get tops grades and make an example of being a leader, and be the best they could be as Slytherins. Rose took to the speech until he said Slytherin. He expected both of his children in Slytherin. She was not sure it would happen.  
  
She came to her own conclusions of the different houses through the night. Slytherins were ambient, yes, but strongly loyal as long as it benefitted their goal. Gryffindor valued justice and believing you were on the right side and speaking justice as if it were a language they were fluent in. Ravenclaw were curiosity and an insatiable thirst for knowing, and understanding. This gave them a sense of creativity and individuality, because there was so much to know. Hufflepuff, however, she could not put her finger on. She didn’t quite understand past the equality amongst all, that perhaps they were just all the other houses but each value was equal. Bravery, intelligence and cunning but all the same priority slot. You wouldn’t be any of those things unless you found everyone equal and just and worked hard for anything you wanted. Its kindness.  
  
If given the choice, she would pick Hufflepuff. But as her father’s words of Slytherin filled her, she conclude that she had no choice. It didn’t matter what anyone valued—she would not be outcasted from her family if she wanted to be kind, or brave or intelligent. She wanted to be with her family. Even if she had to argue with a hat.


	2. The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary is racist and Hermione isn't afraid of calling people out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about writing Rosie's story, especially since I've always loved the idea of Slytherin as a kid, but writing from the perspective of the youngest Malfoy is going to take a lot of character developments. Leave a comment, I love reading them. Warnings ahead for rape and violence.

Rosemary was Draco’s little twin sister. They did most of everything together—they had the same set of friends, tutors and schedules. They learned to dance and to speak French, both knew their family tree and knew of their names beside each other on the Black Family Tree in the Black Mansion, now lost from their family, owned by a jailed uncle or cousin. They learned and were taught side by side to read music sheets, and to ride a broom, who suffered through stuffy upper class parties together and always sat through their father’s monotonous speeches enough times to have their ears bleed and they could recite each one perfectly.  
She did not think it possible that he could take off without her onto the Hogwarts Express, to greet their friends who’d only been nice to him rather than suffer with her presence. She was much too shy to go along with him, and stayed behind with their parents, as her father spoke to some of his pureblood friends from the Ministry of Magic, as was his title. From the corner of her eye, she saw a team of red heads.  
  
She knew of the Weasleys as only a family of blood traitors, just because the father, Arthur Weasley, associated himself with trinkets of Muggles. Never mind they were purebloods themselves, they were as good as the dirty blooded, apparently. It was strange thought—she didn’t think anyone would be alive if they had dirt in their blood. Whoever came up with the slang was obviously not very bright.  
With them, she noticed, was a smaller, skinnier boy she recognized with the mop of black hair and her eyes perked up, her hand tightening around the papers she had in pocket. Had she known he would have been surrounded by so many people—all of which red headed, what were the odds?—she wouldn’t have thought about detailing things she thought he would need about Hogwarts. Blushing at herself, she had basically made him a brochure to Hogwarts. She felt her face grow warm—her mother took notice.  
  
“What is it, flower?”  
  
“Just nervous.” She didn’t like lying but this wasn’t lying. Just omitting. She was nervous.  
  
Her mother had perfected a sleek pony tail, keeping every strand of blonde hair in the elastic. It was smooth, with no bumps and every little strand behind her ears have been put into the elastic. Her mother now smiled and tugged at it with care not to disrupt its perfection and smiled, “Think about our talk, all right?” Then she stood straighter, “See any friends?”  
She wasn’t sure if they were friends or not, but she nodded and told her, “Harry Potter is by the pillar over there.” Her father took to their conversation when she spoke Harry Potter’s name.  
  
“H-Harry Potter? You’re friends with Harry Potter?” Her father asked her, smiling suddenly. “Well, Rosie, this is wonderful. Just the thought of—”  
  
“Lucius, do not corrupt this,” Her mother cut him off in a sharp whisper, not taking her eyes off her daughter, “Now why don’t you go say hello—oh, no never mind.” She said then her smile smeared off her face as she looked up to search for the boy. “He’s with the blood traitors.”  
  
The three went quiet as both her parents glanced over to the Weasleys, now letting their children board, “More children than they could afford, those two,” He muttered. “I hear that the eldest at Hogwarts is still a prefect for the…Gryffindor House.” Her father sneered the last two words, as if they caused him pain to say. “Always remember, Rose, you will always stand higher than them. Their blood purity doesn’t matter should they associate with Muggles. They’re as good as mudbloods.”  
  
Rose dropped her glance and smiled as her mother turned her around once more to face her, the smile back on her gorgeous face. “Now, there’s food in your bag and your trunk has been charmed so it parallels with your wardrobe, but even if you need something specific, always write. Okay, all right, be sure to find your brother and feed Frederick, don’t forget that.”  
  
Her father patted her once on the shoulder, leaned in and spoke quietly, “Do not disappoint me, Rosemary,” and then she went off, her heart in her throat, onto the train, to find a compartment. She made her way down each compartment, finding each one very much full with the older students. She didn’t count on finding her brother in any one of them she encountered but one of the compartments near the middle was empty. In a compartment with just one girl reading one of the listed textbooks of the curriculum, she found the courage to bite back her tongue and smile and then open her mouth.  
  
No words came out and she stuttered over her lost voice, catching the girl’s attention. “If you’d like to sit, you can,” She said, watching Rose curiously. Rose nodded, “Thank you.” She looked back down to her book, and Rose was left to lift her Enchanted Trunk in the overpass. She stared at it for several seconds, scanning through her brain, trying to remember whether or not her mother had told her about being able to use magic on the train to Hogwarts. A simple spell would do…  
  
“Having trouble?”  
  
Rose turned towards the voice and recognized one of the Weasley brothers her mother had called blood traitor. Seeing he was gesturing to her trunk, she laughed nervously, “I can’t reach the overpass…” She said gesturing wildly.  
  
“No worries—Oi! Fred! C’mere and help!” The boy called over his shoulder and she instantly knew this must be George Weasley. The girl didn’t suggest to help, she seemed lost in whatever book she was reading so intently and so the three of them pushed and shoved to get the trunk on board, but alas they could not move it too far. Perhaps performing a lightening spell would work…  
  
As she mulled this thought over, staring at the trunk, a new voice and set of footsteps approached the trio, “Can I lend a hand?”  
  
Rose turned once more towards the voice and her heart just about thundered in her chest, skipping a beat in surprise. Another older looking boy had come to asses her situation, staring down at the chest and then to Rose. He was on the very verge of being very handsome—his brown hair was just slightly tousled, as if it was freshly brushed back but he had run a hand through it, his eyes a deep light brown and his face slightly chiselled, with high cheekbones. He stood quite tall, compared to Rose and seemed to be a sort of athlete in the way his sweater fit him snug.  
  
“Ah, perfect. Would you give us a hand mate?” Fred asked the taller boy and Rose stepped out of the way as to let the three of them have more room. With the help of the three much taller boys, the trunk lifted easier and slid nicely into the overpass compartment without much a struggle.  
  
They all three had triumphant smiles on their faces when they turned toward Rose, who was smiling brightly. “Thank you so much, I don’t reckon I’ll ever be tall enough to reach.” Rose dimpled at them before pursuing her lips, “May I guess that you are…Fred,” She pointed to one of the twins, “And George Weasly?”  
Both twins’ had a grin plastered across their face, “First to get it right—I reckon we must look pretty similar, no one can tell us apart.” Fred joked. Rose glanced to the other boy, who was still looking down at her. Their height differences made her take a step back, “And you are…?” She trailed off, waiting for his name.  
  
Before he could give it, however, a loud, familiar voice boomed down the corridor. “Oi! Rosemary!” Her brother’s voice trailed up the hallway and she snapped her head towards the other end. Draco was making his way up eagerly, grabbing her arm. “Come on! I want to go find that Potter boy—and see if the rumours are true.”  
  
“Rumours?” Rose questioned, raising a brow.  
  
“His lightning scar, come off it!” His eyes shifted from his sister’s to the boy’s surrounding her. “Why are you with the blood traitors? Are they bothering you?”  
  
“Blood traitors?” George questioned, quirking a brow, both of their grins gone. “Why, you little—”  
  
“Sure you can afford to hex me, Wealsey? Doesn’t seem to me like your family can afford much, ay?” Draco rolled his eyes, pulling along Rose as he went up back where he came from. Rose barely had time to look over her shoulder and toss a wave before they’d disappeared behind the door into the next corridor.  
  
She caught up with Draco without tripping but pulled herself free, “Honestly Draco, must you be so mean? I was getting along fine with them.”  
  
“Right—trust me Rose, you don’t want to keep their sort of company. What would father say?” This kept her quiet as Draco pulled her along. Students were still boarding the train now, as she’d predicted, and once they took a clear and wide search, Harry Potter did not turn up. They separated, with a promise of trading their snacks later (because their mother always forgot each other’s preferences). When Rose returned to her compartment, the girl had put her book down and was now staring out the window, looking dreamy.  
  
When Rose sat, the girl looked at her. “Hello. Are you a first year too? You seem like it—I don’t mean that as an insult, no of course not. Have you read all the textbooks yet? I have, I’d like to know as much as possible—but oh, I’m so excited, aren’t you!?” The girl asked, moving excitedly to face Rose as she crossed her legs and blinked in surprise at the sudden conversation. “I’m Hermione Granger, what’s your name?”  
  
“Rosemary Lilith.” She didn’t give her last name as the girl had cut her off—“I hear Harry Potter will start this year as well, do you know him?”  
  
“I’ve met him, once.” Rose answered, looking around. “So, which part of London are you from?”  
  
“Near South End Green. And you?” She answered, taking in Rosemary’s very polished look.  
  
“I’m from Wiltshire.” She told her, not knowing where in the world South End Green was but hoping her own answer was understood.   
“So…um, what are you reading?”  
  
Hermione turned very enthusiastically to grab her book once more and showcased it to Rose, who read the title of A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. She nodded, “I’m very excited to start, I’ve just finished reading a book on spells,” Rose told her, though she didn’t tell her which level of spells, because she felt as if though she shouldn’t try and compete with this girl. She had a guilty pound on her shoulder when she thought of the fact that she, Rose, was probably smarter. “Personally, I want to see the library.”  
  
Hermione Granger gasped, “Me too! Oh, I’ve heard it’s the biggest library in the world! I plan on using it to my advantage—I’m sure by my fifth year I’ll be prefect!”  
  
The way the girl spoke, Rose had no doubt in her mind of her being sorted into Slytherin. There was a hasty determination burning in her voice that she heard in her mother’s voice and in her aunt’s voice. “So, are you a mudblood then?” Rose asked and there seemed to be an immediate reaction. Hermione’s face fell and her arms slipped so they were crossed.  
  
“Oh,” She drew back. “You’re a pureblood, then?” Rose, confused, nodded. “No wonder. You think this is some joke—haha, yes, I’m probably the only witch in my family, such a disgrace to the wizards bloodlines. Well, I know for a fact that if wizards didn’t marry into muggle families, they would cease to exist today.”  
  
“I know that, but why are you telling me that? What have I said?” Rose asked, still searching for some way to string together this sudden turn of events. “Do you not…like purebloods…or..?”  
  
“Ha! I’m one to judge by blood status, hmm? Well, I’ll have no contact with some who’s racist—”  
  
“Racist? But have I said? Just because I asked if you were a mud—” Rose felt her anger being triggered, and she crossed her own arms.  
  
“Are you this ignorant? Gosh, I can’t believe I thought…” Hermione mumbled, trailing off before shaking her head and looking Rose in the eyes. “You referred to me as mudblood, if it’s so hard for you to grasp where the conversation has gone wrong!”  
Rose, still angry and confused, waited. She leaned in, “…and?”  
Hermione’s dark skin flushed, “And!? And that’s racist!”  
  
“What do you mean!? My father always calls…” And then Rosemary starting grasping what Hermione was telling her and gasped. “Is that..? Oh my—I’m so sorry! I didn’t know—my father always calls—I didn’t mean to...” Rosemary, flustered and now feeling guilty, waved her hands about and made several flowers grow at the walls. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know it wasn’t the right term…oh Merlin, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Hermione, still bearing her cold composure, hesitated, half getting up. “You—you didn’t know? Truly?” Rose nodded, wondering if she had just ruined any chance at making a friend in this girl but then the girl sat back down and offered her hand, “At least now you know and won’t go about calling muggleborns that horrid word.” So Rose shook her hand and pleadingly offered her one of her sweets that her mother had packed for her.  
  
The girls shared their thoughts over the sorting, and Hermione told her she hoped for Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw. At this, Rose sulked. Perhaps she wouldn’t end in Slytherin after all…before long, some of the older kids were patrolling through the compartments, walking past with friends wearing their robes. Returning students all had on their house colors if they were not wearing their robes, and she did not see any of the three boys. She frowned, disappointed.  
  
The two changed into their robes and Hermione took off with a boy, Neville Longbottom, who had lost his toad in coming onto the train. Rose got up too, taking off into the opposite direction, looking for someone, anyone she recognized.  
The truth was, Rose did not grow up with her own friends. Rose grew up with the girls that her father’s friends had, all pureblooded, most to all Slytherin families. They grew up taking ballet together, attending the same fancy parties, but she knew they never considered her a friend, what with how they picked on her. She always took pride in being called on about how much she resembled her mother—but her hair was incidentally lighter, matching more her father’s. It was nearly white and the girls made fun of it—she always adored dark hair and wished she’d gotten her maternal grandmother’s black hair, one that apparently was inherited by every other family member but her immediate family members. She had bland white hair though and she often found herself hating it, no matter the pretty updos her mother pulled it in.  
  
Rose caught a sight of messy black hair and immediately froze at it—and immediately recognized it. Rosemary took a deep breath and turned into the last compartment, smiling. “Hello,” She greeted both Harry and the red headed boy sitting opposite to him. “May I sit?”   
Before waiting for a reply from either boy, she took a seat next to Harry, reaching into her pocket. She was determined to be his friend and talking to him was, unfortunately, apart of the process. She sucked at talking—she always felt humiliated when she said something wrong or pronounced something off. She was still feeling the shame and humiliation of her racist encounter with Hermione.  
  
“I was hoping I would find you, before we arrived. We’re nearly there, but I suppose this still counts as before.” She said, handing him the paper folded in three rectangles. “I thought—since you were raised by Muggles—that you might need some help with the school. It’s magic, you see, and often plays tricks with the first years. My mum told me that—so I just thought, perhaps you’d find it useful—it’s only just a few tricks and warnings. I’d read it carefully,” She said, still holding out the paper. Slowly, perhaps cautiously, Harry took the parchment and nodded,  
  
“Thanks?”  
  
Rosemary, happy with her gesture, smiled wider, “Not a worry,” She said as she had heard her father reply to a thanks. She turned to the red headed boy and looked at him, taking in his features—his hair was a flaming red, his face was painted in freckles and he seemed lanky. His hand was stretched out and he had his wand in it pointing at the rat. He was staring at her, turning red almost. “And…I may have to guess that you are…Ronald Weasley?” She said slowly, hoping to get it right.  
  
“Yes,” The boy said coldly.  
  
“I’m—”  
  
“I can guess who you are—all of you are albino white.” He scolded, and Rose was frozen, mid-sentence. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her hair, which was starting to hurt from being in a tight pony tail since dawn. “Malfoy.”  
  
“P-Pardon?” She asked, hoping she had not again accidently offended another person.  
“Your father has a lot to say about Dad—and no wonder. You’re entire family is full of proud purebloods—well guess what? I’m just as pure-blooded as you are!” He fumed, turning red. Before she could say anything, the compartment door slid open once more and Hermione peered in.  
  
“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. “Rosemary! There you are—have you found it?”  
  
Rosemary, much too in shock to say anything, shook her head and Hermione slumped, as did Neville Longbottom behind her. He went off as Hermione peered around the compartment and caught sight of Ron’s wand. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She sat down opposite to Rose. Ron looked taken aback, his seeming anger disappearing.  
  
"Er -- all right." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."  
  
He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat asleep in his lap stayed gray and asleep.  
  
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” She said, very fast and in one breath.  
  
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ronald Weasley muttered.  
  
"Harry Potter," said Harry.  
  
"Are you really?" said Hermione asked, turning her attention to Harry. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books. For background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.  
  
"Am I?" Harry asked, glancing at Rose. She nodded, feeling a bit bad for him. His muggle guardians must not have told him much.  
  
"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." Rose stood with her, looped her arm through Hermione’s and took off to the direction into the next car.  
  
“So, what’s your family like?” Rose asked as they walked down to their compartment. She learned that apparently, Hermione had a very big family, for being an only child. She had several aunts and uncles, many little cousins and many older cousins, whom which told her stories of their education in universities.  
  
“No wonder you’re a witch! You’ve got such a big family—I bet if I’d looked into our back at home, I’d be able to find some significant wizarding blood in you lineage!” Rose told her, chuckling.  
  
Hermione shrugged, “You’d have to, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I always wanted a little brother of my own. You know—teach him how to solve pre-algebra, solve long problems. The whole experience,” She said dreamily.  
  
Rose quirked an eyebrow, “Algebra? What’s that?”  
  
Hermione eyed her in shock, “Do wizards not have math!?”  
  
Rose would have replied had there not been a loud disruptive commotion coming right from where they’d be trailing from. Surprised, both girls turned and when Rose saw a head the same color as hers, she marched on towards him, but not right before he disappeared. She huffed, glaring after him. Draco had always been the troublemaker—she’d been the one to take the fall for him.  
  
"What has been going on?" Hermione asked, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up his rat by his tail,  
  
“I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at his rat. Something rattled in her inside pocket as he did so and she pulled her robes tighter around herself.  
  
"No -- I don't believe it -- he's gone back to sleep-" Ron turned to look back at Harry, "Wait—have you met the demon twins before?"  
  
Rose gasped in shock at this, “Excuse me?”  
  
Ignoring her, Ron looked on expectantly at Harry. Harry glanced at Rose before hesitantly explaining their brief meeting in Diagon alley.   
He left out the part of Rose being present to her surprise.  
  
"You know, their family,” Ron said with a note of chagrin in his voice at the word ‘family’, “were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says her father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Rose. "Isn’t that right, albino?”  
Rose glared at Ron for a long time before deciding the two would not get along.  
  
“Don’t call her albino—you’re already in enough trouble, what with all this fighting with Rose’s brother!” Hermione crossed her arms, surveying the mess once more. Rose looked at her and a sudden warmth spread through her. It was so strange, having someone defend you by their own accord, not expecting anything in return. And after she’d so rudely insulted her… She also noticed how Draco was referred to as her brother, rather than she being Draco's sister. No one had ever done that. He was always Draco. She was always his sister. She was never Rosemary. Just Draco's twin sister.  
  
"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her.  
  
“Whatever the case may be, you’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor not even twenty minutes ago, and he says we're nearly there.”  
  
“Would you leave then?” He sneered.  
  
"All right -- I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" Ron glared at her as Rose looped her arm through hers once more and led them away.  
  
The rest of the train ride—it was rather short, they were very close to arriving—was filled with a restless thought about what Ronald Weasley had said about her family and her father. She tried not to feel angry—he was just a boy who didn’t know any better, standing up for his father—but he had no right in talking to her like that. She hadn’t done anything wrong to him, hadn’t said anything. She was being polite and he had been rude. That surely told her what sort of character he had. Perhaps her father was right after all—maybe being raised with so many other brothers was problematic.  
  
A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."  
  
Through the crowd growing in the corridors, Rose lost Hermione and was pushed into the flow of much stronger students. She stumbled right into more of them and one of them turned around and, “Oh, small girl!” George Wealsey smiled. “You’re just about trampled, come on.” He led her in front of him and his twin and was able to get her out without much injury. Once off the train, they joined her on each side.  
  
Blushing furiously as she remembered, she looked up at them, “Look, I’m sorry about what my brother said earlier—honest. I don’t think you, or anyone for that matter, are blood traitors.” She found this unconvincing. “I think Muggles are just as fascination as wizards as a matter of fact—”  
  
Fred cut her off, “Merlin, you sound like our dad.”  
  
“He works for the Ministry,” George explained, a smile spreading once more. “And don’t worry—gits like Malfoy, oh sorry.” George cringed. “Forgot he’s your brother.”  
  
She took that as a compliment and felt herself smile. “Thank you.”  
  
Fred laughed at this and then pointed her out to where the first years would need to head to. She thanked them both and took to finding a clear path to the large man she recognized as the same man who’d been with Harry in Diagon Alley. He was swinging a lantern well above their heads, crying "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!” Rubeus Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"  
  
As they slipped their way along to follow his large figure, Hermione found her way to her side and Rose once more slipped her arm around hers, as to not be separated again. They nearly lost their balance on what felt to be a steep, narrow path that led to what sounded like a lake. There was a thickening silence until Hagrid called out, "Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."  
  
There was a loud "Oooooh!"  
  
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Rose’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.  
  
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hermione and Rose followed two cloaked boys into a boat and Rose groaned internally when she saw it was Ronald Weasley. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"  
  
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.  
  
"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.  
  
"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.  
  
"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.  
  
"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"  
  
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	3. The Sorting Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rose seriously questions how a hat could possibly know where she belongs, and who she will be for the next seven years of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome back to Rose's story. I'm just letting ya'll know that Harry and Rose will be co-narrators but Rose will dominate over Harry's narration just because its more her story as well.

As if she had had her hand on the door, it swung open the second the knocks subsided. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there, assessing the first years with a stern face that Rose could only imagine was just her casual face.  
  
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.  
  
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wider, allowing entrance.  
  
The entrance hall was very big—and Rose lived in Malfoy Manor, one of the biggest houses in England’s wizarding population. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones in Gringotts (She’d been there several times so her father could show her exactly how much her family was worth), the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Rose could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right. She guessed that the rest of the Hogwarts students were probably eating dinner at this time—they must have gotten here a different way.  
  
Professor McGonagall, however, did not lead the first years into the noisier room. She led them into a small, empty chamber just off the hall. It was quite small so they all crowded in and watched Professor McGonagall nervously.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall started. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.” Rose was prepared for this but her heart still drummed. “The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.” Draco turned to her and nodded at the sound of their family house. The only house, in her father’s eyes. “Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear.  
  
Rose nervously tugged at her pony tail, to make sure it was still intact and felt a sense of relief to feel it was still just as tight as before getting on the Hogwarts Express. But it was seriously starting to hurt now…  
  
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber. Rose swallowed.  
  
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Rose heard Harry ask Ronald.  
  
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." He replied and Rose rolled her eyes. Honestly…Had no one read Hogwarts, a History? Had no one properly prepared themselves—other than Hermione and herself—?  
  
As she thought this, a cold draft blanketed the room and everyone around her jumped, gasping collectively. She looked around to see pearly white and slightly transparent people floating amongst them and above them. It seemed as if though they were arguing. A seeming monk spoke,  
  
"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --"  
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered him.  
  
Growing up in the Malfoy Manor had its kicks—like its fair share of ghosts. At points, it seemed as if thought only she, Rose, could see them but they were very much there. They no longer surprised her, whether in Hogwarts or in the foyer at home.  
  
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them.  
  
"About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely.  
  
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."  
  
"Move along now." Professor McGonagall’s voice made Rose jump at its sudden interruption. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." As she spoke, ghosts quickly evaporated, as if the Professor’s voice was the plague. "Now, form a line." Professor McGonagall told the first years. "And follow me."  
  
With excitement coursing through her veins, she stepped behind her brother and followed the line out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. Rose had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was nothing like her own house. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.  
  
Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Rose stared up ahead, and delight filled her, “Wow it really does show the sky.” Rose whispered. Draco turned to her and she continued, “I read about it,- “  
  
"It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." Hermione interrupted her, attracting the eyes of most of the kids around them. Rose barely heard Hermione rudely interrupt her sentence as she kept looking at the ceiling. It was as if the high heavens were just there, waiting to be touched.  
  
At the sound of a stool, Rose looked back to the front and saw that Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.  
  
For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:  
  
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on!  
Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"  
  
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still once more.  
  
Rose always thought that the sorting was little jigged. A hat, sorting through your head, using the values and traits you have? What if you had too many? This stressed Rose—she loved learning, and was always interested in understanding the world, but did this mean she was in Ravenclaw? Or was she in Hufflepuff because she believed, unlike her father and mother told her, that everyone was of equal footing from birth and deserved the same from everyone, as long as everyone worked hard? Or was she in Gryffindor? Was she brave and filled with courage?  
  
Or was she a Slytherin, just like her family? Was it something inherited? Will Harry Potter be sorted into Gryffindor because he is brave or because both Lily Evans and James Potter were in Gryffindor? And what of Hermione? Would it take forever to sort her, though she obviously belonged in Slytherin? And what of Rose? Would she only be in Slytherin because this is what her parents want, thus what she wants? Or was she cunning? Determined—enough to get herself into the right house, even if she needed to argue with the Sorting Hat?  
  
Professor McGonagall had now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment and started calling on names and Rose began to internally panic. And if she wasn’t sorted at all? What then? She’d always been told she was a Slytherin and a pureblood but she was never told of her being intelligent or brave or cunning or loyal. She didn’t know a thing about herself so who was this hat to know who she was?  
  
A girl became a Hufflepuff, and the table in the middle roared with its occupants cheers and claps. Hannah Abott went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table and Rose saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her. Moving along the table she also saw the tall boy who’d helped the twins on the train. He was sitting at the end with what seemed to be his friends, as they all chatted cheerily of their new house member. His eyes jumped at Rose and he smiled to her. Rose smiled back widely. She did feel however a pang of disappointment of him being in Hufflepuff. Her father hated Hufflepuffs.  
  
Professor McGonagall kept calling off names and Susan Bones joined the Hufflepuff, Terry Boot joined the Ravenclaw table, Mandy Brocklehurst to Ravenclaw as well. Lavender Brown became the first Gryffindor. The Gryffindor table cheered the loudest and Rose saw the twins standing with applause.  
  
Millicent Bulstrode became the first Slytherin and her heart thundered. The next boy became a Hufflepuff, but she was starting to notice that some of the students were harder to place than others. Some were immediately placed, those seemed to be more confident in themselves. Most of them were a good amount, a few seconds or so. Some, however, took a good long minute.  
  
"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Rose in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.  
  
"Granger, Hermione!" Hermione just about ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. Rose’s heart thundered, wondering where her new acquaintance would belong before it dropped completely at the shout of, "GRYFFINDOR!" Someone—Ronald Weasly—groaned among the new first years.  
  
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."  
  
Her brother, next to her, was called. He basically swaggered forward, with Rose dropping her head in a hand in embarrassment at this. Barely a touch on his head, the Hat screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Draco went to join his buffoon friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. She barely thought about him as her own name rang through the long room, “Malfoy, Rosemary,”  
  
Her heartbeat seemed a whole lot louder as she took a swaying step forward and made her way to the stool in a way she hoped wasn’t too cautious or too eager. She took her seat on the stool and nearly immediately caught the eye of the boy again. He smiled once more but she could not find any politeness left to overbear the nerves. She would be in Slytherin—it’s where she should belong.  
  
“Hmmm.” Said a small voice in her ear. “Difficult, very difficult. Lots of bravery, I see, and a very brilliant mind with it. Talent, without a doubt, no need for a wand, hmm? There’s a good portion of ambition, isn’t there? Thirst to prove yourself, but where? Indecisive, you are, very indecisive.” The Hat talked on, “Gryffindor would be perfect for you, I see…”  
  
Without thinking it, Rose spoke, “I disagree, I think Slytherin would be perfect for me.” And then she mentally cursed at herself.  
  
The hat seemed to laugh a hotly laugh, “Do you now, hmm…Stubborn as well…very well footed, very uncommon from your branch of family...very well footed indeed, very against prejudice hmm…Suited for Hufflepuff as well, very strange…”  
  
“I have no inquiries against Hufflepuff, but I do feel suited for Slytherin.” Rose continued. Some people who could hear snickered, but the boy caught the word too and frowned. Someone leaned over and whispered in his ear.  
  
The hat took a moment of silence, “And there’s the ambition once more, fighting for what you want. Very well suited for most of the houses, then…but where to put you…?”  
  
“Slytherin.” Rose said.  
  
“You belong in Gryffindor,” Her eyes stung slightly and she blinked them close, holding herself rigid at these words. “But let’s put you in SLYTHERIN!” The last table roared with applause at the call of their house name. Satisfied with herself, she allowed Professor McGonagall to lift the hat off her head and she jumped off it. Passing by Harry, she countered him a quick, “Hope to see you in Slytherin.”  
  
As she walked, she caught the boy’s eye once more from over at Hufflepuff and he seemed a little disappointed—but his smile was still intact though the boy who was whispering in his ear was still whispering. She narrowed her eyes. 

Harry watched the girl take a seat over at the Slytherin table and saw her smile at him a final time before turning to an older girl who shook her hand. Harry felt his own nerves build—she seemed nice but now she was in Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot. He was surprised to see she would belong in that house—she seemed too…nice. He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.  
  
There weren’t many people left before he would have his name called. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last -- "Potter, Harry!"  
  
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.  
  
"Potter, did she say?"  
  
“The Harry Potter?"  
  
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.  
  
“Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes—a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you?" Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. "Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be GRYFFINDOR!" Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall.  
  
He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.  
  
He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.  
  
And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.  
  
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. He was welcomed into the spot on Rosemary’s right. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.  
  
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago. Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.  
  
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.  
  
"Is he -- a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.  
  
"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"  
  
Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.  
  
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.  
  
"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak,  
  
"Can't you --?"  
  
“I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."  
  
"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you-- you're Nearly Headless Nick!"  
  
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy --" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.  
  
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?" Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.  
  
"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said,  
  
"So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable -- he's the Slytherin ghost."  
  
Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements. On Malfoy’s other side was his sister, her pony tail over one shoulder now.  
  
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.  
  
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.  
  
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding -- "  
  
As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.  
  
"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."  
  
The others laughed.  
  
"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.  
  
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."  
  
On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing -- ").  
  
Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.  
  
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.  
  
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.  
  
"What is it?" asked Percy.  
  
"N-nothing."  
  
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.  
  
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.  
  
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

“Is that not Professor Snape, just to the right of Professor Quirrell?” Rosemary asked the girl, Camila who’d sat in front of her, who’d been the first to welcome her to Slytherin, seeming to claim her hand nearly immediately.  
  
Camila looked over and nodded, “Mhmm, yea. How do you know him?” Rosemary trained her eyes on him.  
  
“He’s a friend of our father’s. I’ve seen him a couple times with my father.” Rose said. Suddenly, the man turned away from wherever he was staring off to and met her eyes. A sharp tingle swept over the tips of her fingers and she gasped. Looking down, she saw nothing on her hands but she could swear, there’d been a sort of tugging… “I-I think they were in school here together as well.”  
  
“He’s the head of our house now, and the Potions teacher, but everyone knows he’s been after the Dark Arts position since he’d started teaching.” Camila said, training back to look at her. “Warning: He may seem very nice and generous towards us Slytherins but he probably hates everything and everyone other than his potions.” Rosemary nodded along, wondering what her father would say to such allegations. “So, you excited for your classes?” Camila asked, taking a gulp of her lemonade. She couldn’t understand why she liked lemonade, it was much too sour.  
  
Rose nodded, smiling widely now. “I’m especially interested in Transfiguration, I’ve already read all the textbooks, and my tutors have all said I’ll be especially good. I have a knack for Charms as well, I’ve studied them all, and I’m sure I’ll be good at them.” She rambled in one breath, and Camila smiled, amused.  
  
“You are precious! You are a gem—you’ll stick with me,” She said, waving her pointer finger at her.  
  
"Ahern -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” Albus Dumbledore stood, "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."  
  
Rose thought she saw Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flash in the direction of the Weasley twins across the Great Hall.  
  
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.  
  
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."  
  
At the mention of Quidditch, she smiled but as the headmaster spoke the last sentence, she turned to Camila. Camila shrugged, “Our prefect hasn’t mentioned anything like that to us. Maybe it’s a new rule.” She seemed to brush it off quickly, but it lingered in Rose’s mind until Dumbledore cried out, "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"  
  
Her mother had never told her anything about a school song but everyone around them seemed to groan. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. "Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And so the school bellowed:  
  
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot.  
  
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"  
  
Camila turned to their house, “All right all, since our prefects are probably off snogging or arguing, you can all follow me. We have much to discuss,” Camila said before parting. Rose and the others all ran to keep up with her much longer legs (was she really just a year older?) and followed her through the open doors to just the immediate right. “Now, there are several, very creative ways into getting into the dungeon but this is usually made as the main entrance.” She opened the door and let them all in before shutting it once more. She then made her way to the front and spoke in a lower voice.  
  
“I need you all to listen and listen carefully, because I will not repeat this again.” Everyone waited anxiously as her voice lowered to a dangerous tone. “We do have several rules in Slytherin house, which I will explain but the main three are, number one, never give the password away. If you forget it, trust me, you can argue your way in. Second, if ever someone from another house annoys you or doesn’t like you, you have to let the whole house know because we hold weekly prank nights and we need a fresh hit list.” It was so ridiculous, how serious she’d said it, it didn’t sound like she was joking. “Thirdly, we have a lot of things in our common room that should not be in our common room, like a sort of kitchen sort of potion corner, several secret passage ways out of the common room to several places in the castle and several, mostly deceased portraits of old previous professors that help us study. I’m telling you this because we are not allowed to have most of these things, so we have a magic shield that we must cast upon each one if ever a teacher or outsider comes in. This means, everyone must be a collective group because Slytherins aint snitches, so everyone keeps watch. If one of us is in trouble, everyone is, because I’ve told you all about it. To keep yourself out of trouble is to keep all of us out of trouble, got it?” Rose, fascinated with her American accent, nodded immediately, as did everyone else. Now there was a definite high on seeing the Slytherin house. “Good, now follow me.” She turned to the stone wall and sighed.  
  
She reached up, pushing in a cobblestone so it slid back, and by her right knee, another cobblestone was pushed out. Camila stepped on it, and then reached towards the ceiling pressing the cobblestone third from the left and all at once, many cobblestones moved together, as if it were a simple door with a doorknob. “Not the most convenient of doors, but it keeps the other students out. Especially the Gryffindors. They like trying to find our common room. Besides,” She peered into the dark hall that had just been opened, “They’re more idiot then they are brave.” Then she gestured for them in.  
  
No one moved for a moment before Rose took a step and, encouraged by Camila’s smile, took the first step into the darkened hall. Perhaps it was some sort of eye magic, but she was able to see into the dark corridor of steps. She led the group down and they ended up in what seemed to be the castle’s dungeon. “Fair warning,” Camila’s sudden voice echoed through the dungeon. “Snape’s office is also in the dungeon, so there are several different ways we can all be expelled if we were to bring in outsiders. Just a warning.” She stepped forward to the wall to the immediate wall to the right and knocked in strange patterns.  
  
“Morse code, one of the first lessons taught to every Slytherin in your first week by the older students. Lock picking is the second, but no one should try it on this door here,” A door appeared, as if it had always been there. “Alright, now the password. Camila, do not swear in front of the first years.” Camila said and nothing happened. Rose wondered if she were saying that to herself, or if that were the password. She narrowed her eyes, “Camila don’t swear in front of the first years.” She said again.  
“Try in an English accent.” Rose suggested.  
  
Camila considered this and spoke in an English accent. She sounded better in an American accent. “Camila do not swear in front of the first years.” The door opened and Rose snickered. Camila, rolling her eyes, opened the door.  
“Alright, you pompous ass, what’s with the password?” She called into the room. The first years followed and Rose’s mouth dropped.  
  
The Slytherin common room was decked and themed in green. The farthest walls from the door were made of glass and showcased the lake. To Rose’s excitement, there were mermaids and mermen swimming past, waving at the first years.  
  
There were three fire places and she could understand why—she pulled her robes tighter around herself and shivered. There were several couches, most just around the fireplaces and two set of stairs that probably led to the girls’ and boys’ dormitories, with a long stretch of a balcony lining every other wall above them. Lining the balcony were tall bookshelves and one big portrait between the balconies separating the dorms of who she could only guess to be Salazar Slytherin, the original founder of the Sytherin House. She could make out some more couches up on the balconies but very few—just three—and one fireplace in a space where no bookshelf was located.  
  
“Now, now, Mila, not in front of the first years.” An older looking boy stepped forward and draped an arm around Camila’s shoulder. He didn’t look like her but it didn’t seem like they were dating either. She noticed the relaxed tone they each carried, besides he seemed too old. “They are young.”  
  
“We were all young—they’ll know every curse in several languages by the time they graduate, why not start them young?” She suggested cheerily, with a tone that suggested how obvious of a conclusion it was.  
  
“Alright, first year. Girls’ dorms to the right, boys’ to the left. There are several rules—we are a house, not a family, but we will act like one. There’s a collective homework period where if you are not participating, you cannot be loud and disruptive. The mermaids,” He pointed to the glass overlooking the underwater portion of the lake, “Give awful dating advice, do not take it. We have several illegal stuff in our common room, and we must all work together to hide it. There will be older students to escort you to lessons—and for the reason behind this, listen carefully.”  
  
“The Gryffindors have a sort of rivalry with Slytherin and the older students think it’s funny to take it to the younger students of our house. This is why we, older students, will escort you to most classes and you must always stick in groups of at least four. Please, please do not wander about on your own, fearing the chance you could be cornered. This one is especially to the girls: do not, under any circumstances, provoke the boys. They are eager to show their support of our rivalry and will do so on you. And, this goes to everyone, as I have repeated these words since my second year, do not, under any circumstances, keep it a secret if someone, may it be Gryffindor or not, bother you. Let the older kids know, especially if the attackers have told you not to. You can speak about anything here—your house is now considered to be several members of your family now.  
  
This scared Rose. Had there been attacks from the older Gryffindor students on the Slytherin? It seemed rather dangerous—why not tell a professor?  
  
The boy once more said, “Alright, off to bed! Girls with girls, boys with boys, if you feel you don’t belong with your assigned gender and would like to be with the other, please come talk to me or your other prefect.”  
  
The girls resided to the girls’ first year dormitory. Several beds faced the great glass overlooking the lake and were all with green comforters. She chose one at the end and saw her trunk was already there, at the foot. There was her own dresser and several blankets on the foot of the bed. It was rather cold. She laid off all her things and hung her dress robes for the next day, silently ignoring the cries of another girl, who’d told one of the older girls who’d come in how much her family thought Slytherins were the evil house and I’m probably going to be disowned now. She was not the only one crying—but no, she would do better.  
  
You belong in Gryffindor, so let’s put you in Slytherin.  
  
I belong in Slytherin, she thought and it was the last thing she remember before she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a serious talk with myself to talk myself out of making Rose Gryffindor. I took the Pottermore quiz twice and got Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and honestly, I'm stuck between the two. I had to really, seriously talk about what house she would be sorted into. Ravenclaw didn't put up much a fight, because it isn't really apart of the narrative, though she would do well in it. Hufflepuff, too, she was seriously considered in. She only ended up in Slytherin because she fought and argued for it, and I guess that eliminated Hufflepuff, because I'd think you would take what you got should you be a Hufflepuff, and the Sorting Hat sees that? Idk, i'm hoping im not offending anyone, do comment about that. The real choice, however, was whether or not she would be in Gryffindor or Slytherin. Because, she does belong in Gryffindor, but she was put in Slytherin. The opposite of Harry, actually, and because the Sorting Hat said both names out loud, this will play a part in the story in the coming years for Rose, though she has no idea. Hope you liked this, loves, updating every Saturday if i can.


	4. Potions and Parentage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary is innocent and ignorant--the best of character starts. Oh, and here comes Nymphadora Tonks!

Rosemary’s patience was very thick, as long as she thought quick and kept her self-control. It worked marvelously around her family’s guests, especially when they commented critically on her. She was very, very good at keeping herself cool and polite and very modest of her talents, but now, she did not seem to be able to keep herself cool or polite when it came to the Weasly twins. She had a perfectly fine first week ahead of her. It was better than fine. She had gotten up, pulled her long hair into a perfect up-do and had worn her robes perfectly. She had all her textbooks basically memorized, had all her thoughts entranced by her classes and what they would teach her and her steps calculated from one class to another, wanting to not be late. Rose found finding her classes easy, with the help the older Slytherins offered their first morning when walking them to class.

Rose had not seen the frightful Gryffindor boys just yet, and she thought perhaps they were over exaggerating a tad. Fred and George Weasly seemed fine—for limited time, it seemed—and very humorous. Nonetheless, she was escorted to every class by Ariel, who talked to her about her classes. Rose deemed herself lucky she had already read all her books enough times to have them memorized, allowing her to follow along the lessons quickly. She didn’t brag but she was sure she would be top of the class soon enough.

They studied the night skies through telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learnt the names of different stars and the movements of the planets in Astronomy, which Rose quickly found to be one of her favorite subjects. She’d never been allowed to sit after dark at home, as she was mostly locked inside the Manor, she had never seen so many stars so brilliant. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a little witch that was head of the Hufflepuff house, called Professor Sprout. Her class was to teach them how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Again, another favorite. She enjoyed working with plants, as she had an excelled amount of earth bound magic. She found she enjoyed reading through healing books most and thought of what it would be like to become a healer before pushing the thoughts out of her head. Plans of marriage would cloud her future when all the other students prepared for their OWLS, as her parents would have already found someone to arrange a marriage with. Pureblood, wealthy, and Slytherin if they could help it.

Because she already knew what was needed to be known, History of Magic was easily the most boring class she had encountered. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him, and teaching as a ghost. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Rose made more detailed notes, a use or her perfectly cursive handwriting.

Another well enjoyed subject was Charms—taught by a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk, Professor Flitwick. He seemed easily impressed. She had been placed in Harry’s class and when he took roll, and reached his name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Professor McGonagall was again different. Rose made a mental note to never cross this teacher unless she wanted an award for most given detentions in their first week. She did not want anything bad to happen so quick in her time at Hogwarts. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. This proved to be bait, as everyone raved with excitement but soon realized weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for an excruciatingly long time. Rose kept up with the complicated notes, grateful for the challenge. Afterwards, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. A rare smile was awarded to both Rose Malfoy and Hermione Granger by the end, the only students to have made a difference in their own matches.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was something everyone was waiting for, though the other Slytherin students had warned their house's first years' not to get their hopes up too much. She was glad for the warning as Quirrel’s lesson was a joke. Upon entering his classroom reeking strongly of old garlic, which burned Rose’s eyes and nose, he would become intensely nervous and chatter to prove it. His turban, he told them in one of these nervous babbles, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban.

The Weasly twins caught up with Rose afterwards to let her in about the little rumour going about that he’d stuffed his turban with garlic after a rendez-vous with a vampire in Romania, whom he’d fear would decide to find him once more. The Weasly twins, though widely received by all houses as mere pranksters and jokers who meant no harm but fun, caused a lot of caution amongst the older Slytherin students when they took an interest in Rose.

Ariel explained it briefly like so: “Two teenage boys, hitting a hormonal period, befriending their arch rivals house’s student, a pretty freshman girl, who seems small and weak and easy to over power? We can’t be too cautious.” This scared the very wits out of Rose and she was left in horror, wondering what prank had gone as far as to hurt a freshman. But no student would…hurt a first year. No—no Fred and George Weasly meant pure fun and amusement.

But she did, in fact, notice some older boys. Three fifth years, in Gryffindor, that seemed to take to acting like hawks, circling the new Slytherins, as if waiting for an opportunity to snatch them away. One of Ariel’s older friends (which turned out to be her older brother) and prefect of Slytherin house, stared down the one in the middle when he caught sight of his eyes lingering on Rose’s unprotected back. He had merely been talking about crazy incidents in the past years he’d been at Hogwarts when all of a sudden, he dropped his sentence and stared the boy down. Many other older boys around their fellow, first year female house mates follow suit and the boys moved on. Rose didn’t understand—why not just report to Professor Snape if they felt so threatened?

The first class she had with their head of house was on Friday, double potions with the Gryffindor first years. The morning of, while talking with her friends—who all were in the older grades—while the post came in, an owl swooped down towards her and dropped a small package and two letter down just in between her toast and grapes. Eagerly, she grabbed the letter that was decorated with what she recognized to be her family seal. It was the first package she’d gotten from home—it filled with an assortment of treats and a new ribbon, a gorgeous emerald green. She smiled and took the ribbon, offering the treats to her friends. She ran her finger against the ribbon, feeling its silkiness. She could braid it into her hair the next morning, as there was no use in putting it in now. As she turned it over in her personal notebook of observations, as well as the second letter, Ambris Martin, the prefect boy of slytherin, turned around to face the hufflepuff table. Curiously, she turned as well.

The tall boy sat directly behind Ambris in the Hufflepuff table. As she turned around, he caught her eye as well and his smile widened.

“It’s Rosemary, right? Rosemary Mafloy?” The boy asked, and Rose nodded, watching him offer a hand. She took it and her heart beat once more slightly faster at the touch. “I’m Cedric Diggory—I realize only now we’ve never actually been introduced.” He said, smiling lightly.

Rosemary brandished her dimples, “A pleasure to meet you, Cedric Diggory.” Before anything else could be said, Ariel stood, “Come on, Rose, I’m gonna walk you to Potions.” She bid a quick goodbye to Cedric and pulled her bag over her shoulder, making her way up the table, shooting Ambris a dirty look as he stole the last of the sweets. Ryland, from the opposite side, offered her one and she thanked him. Ariel promised her to make him get her a new batch once the Hogsmeade weekends rolled around.

They strolled down the halls and made down to the dungeon again, passing by identical walls. Rose thought of the fact that one of them hid the door to their common room. They walked passed them and stopped at Professor Snape’s classroom. Ariel bid her good luck and good bye, and Rose turned to move into the classroom. Much like their common room, it was extremely cold down here and Rose shivered. She’d been in the dungeons a good week and still felt as if though something was staring at her through the darkness. She thanked Merlin that she was always accompanied by one of her house members. She’d probably drive herself to insanity with the paranoia.

The class started with a casual call of roll but it stopped suddenly when Professor Snape’s eyes shifted over the next name on the scroll.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity." There was no joke in it but Draco laughed with his dumb friends still. She could not guess what exactly happened between Draco and Harry that day on the train, but it was enough for Draco to sneer Harry’s name in the common room to her while doing homework. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes, much like hers, were a dark color, black, but she hoped that where the similarities ended.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. His voice raised barely over a whisper, but he had the attention of the entire class hanging on his words. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stop death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Silence filled the silence.

Rose had studied potions and such for years—she knew her potions. Just because the tips of her hands felt as if they were about to catch a flame. She knew she wasn’t a dunderhead, but she felt a creeping feeling that this teacher was not very well interested in whether or not they could pass. His dark eyes passed onto Harry and she cringed, knowing what would come.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Rose knew the answer but Hermione Granger had shot her hand in the air and she found she did find herself wanting to raise her hand. If, by every example of competition she had seen between Gryffindor and Slytherin did not fail her, she had stuck her hand up as well, it would be taken as a challenge. Besides, her hands felt as if though they would fall off.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Sleeping potion—something like that sort. She wished she could take a sleeping potion and not wake up.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand once more. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

The stomach of a goat—or in a simple medication kit, as they healed most poisons. She did not dare raise her hand. Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn’t seem as confident. Her brother shook with laughter with his friends.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape’s tone was cold and taunting in a dangerous tone. It had been their first class, what could Snape possibly have to complain about a first year not knowing the answer to his first class ever, after being raised in a seemingly magic free world. Was this the same man she’d known her father to speak of so fondly? Couldn’t be. He seemed like a miserable man, who found pleasure in making children feel miserable.

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. "I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfs bane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" Rose had already been writing all the answers down, glancing over at Hermione. She was looking sullen and disappointed, but started writing as well. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter." Snape added over the noise of quills scratching, and Hermione looked even worse.

It seemed as if though Snape was very opposed to the Gryffindor house, and abused his place of power as teacher because of it. He placed them all in pairs to work alongside each other on their own cauldron, and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Rosemary was placed with Hermione, but they each worked without speaking. Rosemary’s was coming along perfectly, as all her practicing had pushed through for this, and she was done before anyone else, though Hermione’s was still working, she threw her a look of loathing when she offered aid.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” She said through her teeth. Rose, wondering again if she had insulted her, leaned back into her chair. She and Hermione had been fine throughout their classes—she was still cautious because of their first meeting but she seemed to be fine until the hands-on portion of their lessons. Rose answered right each time she was called on and praised and given points, but so was Hermione. But every time she answered correctly, she would glance at Rose as if showing off and whenever Rose would answer correctly, she would glance in loathing. She didn’t like the two-faced side of things with her friendship (?) but she was very used to two-faced relationships. Her family was built on it.

Professor Snape swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco and Rosemary. He and Rose were obviously favored, she could smell favoritism from miles away. When he picked up her own potion as a mark, he complemented her with a simple, “Very well done, Miss Malfoy.” But he seemed slightly toned out, as if fighting a different emotion in his eyes. There was certain edge, as if he was thinking hard. She noticed it when he started complimenting Draco. It disappeared when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

Neville had somehow managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted blob, and his potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools (except Rose, who was much too short to even touch the floor) while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had each been working next to Neville. "You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor." Harry looked as if though he was going to reply and Rose made a sharp movement of her hand, moving from side to side with her palm down, and he caught the warning— _Shut up or you’re in trouble._

Later, as Harry and Ronald Weasly climbed the stairs, Rose caught up with them. “You ought to be more careful around him,” She told them both but mainly looked at Harry.

“He didn’t even say anything! He just likes taking points off Gryffindor! And how was he supposed to know where a razor was found?” Ron exclaimed irritably and Rose rolled her eyes.

“A bezoar, and Harry wasn’t supposed to know—it would have been a great advantage if you did, but you didn’t. If it had been a Slytherin, it would have been alright by. The odds are in our favor because he seems to hate Gryffindor for whatever reason, further justifying the stereotype that all first year Slytherins must be escorted to their lessons because Gryffindors are likely to corner us. So yes, I would be very careful around him, even if you don’t say anything—he seems to have a very special hatred for you, Harry.” Rose replied just as hotly, but with her voice a dangerous calm before storming off towards where her older Slytherin housemates had been lurking.

Back in their common room, during their break, Rosemary had pulled out her notebook of observations. She was very keen on writing things of the castle down—nothing too repetitive but she adored making analyses. So far, she had drawn up conclusions of the ghosts, but those were much too easy because they seemed to all be drawn to her. She also doodled a little in it. As she pulled out the leather bound notebook, however, both the ribbon and the letter from the morning slipped out.

Forgetting about both the ribbon and the notebook of observations, she picked the letter up. It was only labeled with her name, even her middle name. Perhaps it was from some relative, congratulating her for making it into Slytherin, as many portraits back home had done, this coming through her mother’s letter. She opened the letter and unfolded it. The first thing she noticed was that the writing was off—every member of her family had intricate cursive writing. This was smudged, written in pencil and was messy, she almost couldn’t read it, having been so used to cursive written letters.

_Rosemary Lilith,_

_You must not know me, as I don’t know you, but my name is Nymphadora Tonks, and if you were to write back, please refer to me as Tonks, or if you want, Dora. I don’t know what my mum was thinking, naming me Nymphadora, but alas, bad names run in our family._

_My mother’s name is Andromeda Tonks, but before she married my dad, she was Andromeda Black. Do you recognize the name? I hope you do. Your mother’s name, at least, correlates with it—they were sisters, you see. Before my mother married my dad, they were close, I’m sure, as she has many photographs with them and third, though I’m not sure you would need to know of the third. After my mother came public about my dad, she was disowned. Seems rather Stone Age, doesn’t it? My dad was muggleborn see, and I’m sure you know the discrimination against them, and why she was disowned. Even her sisters ignored her completely._

_As the war started, however, it really toughed up. I was just six or seven when it really dawned on every one of the risk that He Who Must Not Be Named was capable of. My mother worried for both my father and I, especially as the Order was broken up so horrendously. You don’t know who, or rather what, the Order was and it was not very well known but by the members. But when the Order was broken up, most dead, some insane, few even in jail, He Who Must Not Be Named was dead and over by Harry Potter. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? Well, I do know that he was the godson of my cousin, I think. Or at least, it’s the rumor. We can’t hear of him now._

_I write to you in hopes you’ll write back and think about meeting me, and my mum and dad. But if not, don’t reply, I guess. I’ll tell the difference. I’m hoping to hear back?_   
  
_—Nymphadora Tonks_

 

Rosemary read the letter, and then read it again, before sitting down on her bed and reading it once more. Her mother’s sister’s daughter sent her a letter? Her mother’s sister’s daughter. She did not even know her mother had a second sister. Her family’s backstory was very tough to navigate through. First off, her mother’s family was rather…old and ancient. Always, their motto, though in French. One of the reasons she was to learn French as a child was because of her mothers French ancestry. Her home had a room dedicated to the family tree of both the Malfoys and the Blacks. She saw no sister of her mother, except Bellatrix Black Lestrange. She was, apparently, locked up in Azkaban. Her parents were lucky to not be in there themselves, having been under the Imperius curse. The Dark Lord used them because of how much influence and power they had. Not many believed that story but Rose knew the truth. She told herself of the truth, when no sooner had she entered the Hogwarts Express on September 1st had she heard the first slur.

“Death Eater,” Someone had whispered over her shoulder and it was the first time she associated as just her family name.

She crossed the room and picked up a spare quill and ink off one of the three desks put into the dorms before going to sit on the window ledge that allowed the girls to see into the lake. She started her letter, as the merpeople watched her curiously as they swam by. This was dangerous—and dangerous indeed. But who better to ask about her family and the first wizarding war than someone who knew the closest inner circle?

“ _Nymphadora Tonks,”_ Her quill scratched against the parchment as she wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looooveee Dora, especially how she and her fam are gonna be portrayed in this book. Should be interesting, hope you all enjoyed! I love feedback, please do leave some!


	5. Flying Lessons (Warning: Rape)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings of harsh language, strong rape suggestions. Do not read if this chapter is going to upset you with the underlining suggestion of rape, or intentions of rape. Its not described but you understand it is there. You've been warned.

Rosemary’s first weekend in Hogwarts passed as so;  
A long time backstory of a romance between a now seventh year head boy from Slytherin and a head girl from Hufflepuff had been playing on for nearly since their fifth year. There were known fights and arguments followed by snogging and then more arguments. Slowly and slowly, more of the Slytherin common room started missing out on the boy. He started not showing up to homework periods, and he started to leave earlier in the mornings and then the next sleeping in and the climax ended up happening just as the first Friday rolled around he missed out on a meeting between the heads of the houses.  
  
“This is utter bullshit!” Ariel said, trailing around their little group. They were all spread around in one area before dinner, and Rose slowly realized that most of the group of friends in Slytherin had their own spots in the common room. The group she’d been adopted into had a pretty good spot, with several couches by one of the fireplaces on the main floor and had a coffee table and chess table as well. Their group consisted of Ariel, of course, and her two brothers, naturally. Rosemary, Ariel, Ambris and their Hufflepuff brother Anthony and his Ravenclaw twin Angelika in their third year, who were both currently present, and the ones she knew the names of was Eddie, a fourth year girl and her younger, third year sister, Rachel. The two had a brother in Hufflepuff as well and he sometimes hung around in the common room, though very rarely. Alessia, a second year with Ariel, who often had Rosemary sit in between her legs and braid her hair. Her own, gorgeous auburn hair was always in a messy braid. Two more boys she did not know the names off but were often called Stupid and Stupider and then the taller one always replied with the fact that ‘stupider’ wasn’t a word. Some seventh years she did not know the names of were also present, as were several others from all different years of Slytherin. The only non-house members were Anthony and Angelika and Angelika’s girlfriend Coleen Tristans. (They weren’t actually girlfriends but Rosemary wanted them to be girlfriends because they obviously wanted to be girlfriends but seemed rather shy but blushing all. the. time. It seemed to make Ambris nauseous), and rolling his eyes at his sister.  
  
Their head boy, Castiel, was supposedly amongst their group, as were several other seventh years, but they had ended up branching out. They sometimes hung around with them but often branched together. Seventh year was often the most stressful, what with the N. E. W. T. S. and all. Some of their fifth year friends also had the O. W. L. S. but they hung around much more. Now, the entire group was summoned and were all listening to Ariel vent about how it was ‘such bullshit’, but no one knew exactly what ‘such bullshit’ was.  
  
“Language.” Her brother commented from where he was stretched out on the couch, a book open in his hands. His long legs were repeatedly being pushed off by Eddie in an attempt to have her book bag next to her without his legs on it.  
  
“Ariel, seriously, what am I missing break for? Your cursing?” Eddie asked from behind Rose. “Because I can hear that any time you run into Peeves.” Peeves was the most trouble making ghost at Hogwarts, and was very keen on running into Ariel in the halls because she screamed every time he appeared. Something happened in her first year concerning him, her cat and the kitchens. Rose does not want to ask.  
  
“Cass hasn’t been talking to me—or Ambris or Alec (His friend) or any of his other friends. Anyone he talks to is named Lauren McCarty and I’m starting to think she may not be the best to talk to.” She crossed her arms. “I’m thinking we have a friendtervention for Cass.”  
  
“Ariel, I’m not so sure that’s a real world.” Rosemary told her. Ariel glared.  
  
“The entire English language is made up—every language is made up.” She said. “But can’t we all agree, in one language at least, that that Lauren girl ain’t healthy? She’s isolating him from his friends, and he’s always moody and silent and never hangs around anymore. He’s got better things to worry about—like Quidditch!”  
  
The Slytherin team had been led by Castiel the past three years, except last year, when he up and quit before the first game. Slytherin were on a winning streak and were playing fairly—for as determination were their key to their success, Castiel vowed never to have any of his team members cheat or use any unfair advantages other than their skills and talents. Now that Flint had taken over as captain, their last game had them won but he replaced every member and no fair game had been played since, though they won each time.  
  
“Or, you know, his NEWTS, but whatever,” Ambris said and Rose snickered. “But it’s good—Lauren is no good, I knew when she made him miss class when they first started dating—” Ariel cut him off,  
  
“More like snogging without emotions,”  
Ambris didn’t miss a beat, “I know it still now. Castiel would never willingly miss class, especially not during his fifth year.”  
  
“All for a vote—we’ll add her to our list.” And that’s how Lauren McCarty of Hufflepuff was added to the weekly hit list of those who would be pranked and how Ariel had threatened her Hufflepuff brother about not warning his housemate. He had to swear, apparently, due to some family bond thing.  
Rose was growing exceedingly anxious over breaking rules—she knew well enough that the ghosts loved prowling the night, as well as Miss Norris, who was the equivalent of what Ariel called a ‘tattle-tale’. They would get in loads of trouble with Argus Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts.  
  
But, of course, with all the warnings against doing the pranks and such, she wanted to do it more. So, on Friday night, when she was supposed to dress for bed, she dressed, instead in shorts and a sweater borrowed from one of the boys. It was still hot enough to wear summer clothing and she tied up her laces. Her hair up in a slick pony tail and her hood up over her hair, she joined the others on the long balcony.  
  
“Alright, we split up into groups. Rose, Connor and Travis, you’re all with me.” The two boys who were referred to as Stupid and Stupider, came to either of Rose’s side and showed her the map of instructions and the run through plan.  
  
They headed out through one of Ariel’s hidden passage ways and they ended up right outside right outside the side of castle, overlooking a hill and some trees, painted with some tables seldom used, and then the shinning lake. Rose was out first, as she was smallest and faster than the others, she had a moment for her to adjust to the scene of the sky darkening then she noticed someone in the grass, shooting upwards as he noticed her too. She quickly moved back and pushed the person behind her in the shoulder, and shut the door (which was at the crook of the castle and the ground and had a corner).  
  
“Rosemary?” The voice was familiar and Cedric’s face was suddenly visible in the ascending darkness, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Rose thought fast, “I needed some air—I didn’t think anyone would be out here, what are you doing here?” It was a smart trick, to turn the question on the questioner. She didn’t, however, count him to be clever enough to see this.  
  
“I was going down to my common room, actually. And isn’t Slytherin’s common room in the dungeon? Why would you need air?”  
  
“It’s cold air—and the glass looking into the great lake doesn’t really make me feel like there’s much air.” She laughed nervously—of all the lies she could have picked, she chose the truth!?  
  
Cedric cocked his head to the side, “You don’t like water?” Flushing, she nodded. “Who would have thought—Slytherin’s element being water and all…” He laughed once and she continued to stare, trying not to look much too uncomfortable with the awkwardness. “So…I should be going then, unless…” He was to say something until he decided otherwise, “I’ll see you around, Rose. Also, there’s a lot of plants in the common room, surprisingly, be careful, they’re feisty.” He smiled in the now dark and started walking.  
  
Confused, she waited until he was well out of sight before knocking on the passageway door in Morse code, ‘Come out’. On cue, Connor came out, holding his shoulder.  
  
“You could have been less passive aggressive, Rose,” He told her and she grimaced, muttering an apology. “Who was there?”  
  
“Cedric.” She said, hoping she wasn’t blushing as hard as her cheek temperature was telling her she was.  
“Cedric?” Travis asked, “Cedric Diggory? From Hufflepuff?” He, too, had climbed out of the passageway and was now waiting for Ariel.  
  
“Is there any other Cedric, Cedric Diggory?” Ariel asked, now coming out of the portrait. “He’s hot, no matter what house he comes from. And older.” She smiled at Rose, “And the good type. Anyway,”  
  
So the plan laid out in front of them. They would climb the down secret passageway and to the Hufflepuff dorms, specifically the girl’s dormitories. Rosemary, being the youngest and not knowing what they would be doing exactly, would go first, as she had no malicious plans and it would guarantee them entrance, if they held her hand and created a chain. The passage to enter would not allow those who had malicious intentions. Rosemary was the most innocent amongst them, but would not be after this weekend. Did pranking make someone less innocent?  
  
So, as quietly as she could, Ariel explained exactly how to get into the common room. They would need to water a specific plant and because Rosemary was the best at plant magic, she would approach most of them and be able to identify the plant. This was apparently the first time they were to prank the Hufflepuff house, as they were usually close allies of the Slytherins. Ariel and the boys were to watch for which plant she watered that would do the trick and open an opening in the ground.  
  
It took several minutes but she noticed a very, too perfect flower just by her left ankle and watered it with the water bottle brought along. Almost immediately, the flower sprang a mouth and smiled—with teeth! And very good teeth—do flowers brush their teeth?  
  
“Thank you!” and then the ground moved just a foot away from the flower, ridiculously, right by Rose’s foot, meaning she fell just as it opened, sliding in quietly and disappearing from sight. She landed softly on the dirt under her but she, nonetheless, landed in a dark, lantern cavern like room, having missed the ladder right next to her, leading up to the hole made in the ground. Ariel peered down at her, “You good?”  
  
“Fine,” She struggled with the word but nonetheless waited for the others to climb down to the small round tunnel. It wasn’t too small, rather tall actually, with several lanterns leading to the door at the end of the tunnel. Connor and his brother Travis had light strapped around their foreheads. “What in the world?”  
  
“Cool, right? From the Muggle world,” They grinned at Ariel, who looked towards the door at the end of the small cavern. “Curtesy of our very own Air.”  
  
“Don’t call me that. Rose, you first,” She grasped her hand and Rose led the way to the door, pressing her head to it, hoping to hear through it. There was nothing, not even a crackle of fire. There was, however, a weird, clanking sound. She waited, but it kept going on, over and over.  
“There’s something weird—a clank sound.” She whispered.  
  
“A clock?”  
  
“No clock makes that sound.” She said but opened the door very, very slowly. She, being the smallest peered into the common room.  
  
She peered into a cozy, round, low-ceilinged room, reminding Rose of a reminiscent of a badger’s sett. Fitting, being the badger was Hufflepuff’s animal. The room is decorated in cheerful, bee-like colours of yellow and black, emphasised by the use of highly polished, honey-coloured wood for the tables that each had a low lit lamp and the round doors which, she could only guess, would lead to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories  
  
A colourful profusion of plants and flowers seem to relish the atmosphere of the Hufflepuff common room: various cacti stand on wooden circular shelves, curved to fit the walls, many of them waving and dancing at passers-by, while copper-bottomed plant holders dangling amid the ceiling cause tendrils of ferns and ivies.  
  
A portrait over the wooden mantelpiece (carved all over with decorative dancing badgers) shows Helga Hufflepuff, the founder of the house, toasting her students with a tiny, two-handled golden cup. Small, round windows just level with the ground at the foot of the castle showed a pleasant view of rippling grass and dandelions. These low windows notwithstanding, the room feels as if though it would be perennially sunny during the day.  
  
It was much different than the Gryffindor common room, though she could imagine Cedric in the common room, sun running its hand through his dark hair. He probably had lighter highlights…Rosemary’s thoughts were cut off by the sound of the clank again. She peered around cautiously and only heard the clank. She had heard of Invisibility spells, even cloaks, though why would anyone need to be invisible in their own house common room?  
And then she noticed something move out of the corner of her eye. She ducked back into the passageway, bumping into Ariel in the process but then noticed whatever had moved was making a clank sound, and—what was—was it in a pot?  
  
She peered out once more, looking out into the darkness that didn’t seem to dark and saw a flower, in a pot. She grimaced—why was it moving? But then she noticed, most of the other plants were also moving as well. In their pots, just moving back and forth on the window sills and shelves, on the floor, moving around the perimeter of the common room. As she watched it, it randomly moved around the coffee table. Rose saw no pattern—was it a guard flower, then?  
  
“Why are there flowers patrolling the Hufflepuff common room?” Rose hissed to Ariel.  
  
“I guess their plants must come alive at night? Maybe they’re magic?” She offered, and Rose struck her a look.  
“Really? A potted plant running perimeter checks in the common room with which you must water a talking plant to get in being magic? At a magical school?” She threw back and Ariel rolled her eyes.  
  
“Let’s just make sure we aren’t caught by one of those plants, please!” Travis said from the back of the line. “Can we just go, otherwise we’ll be caught by a flower demon.”  
  
“Hey, don’t call Rose that!” Connor said. “She may be a first year named after a flower, but not all first years are scary!” Rose seethed and peered out once more.  
  
“Also, there’s a lot of plants in the common room, surprisingly, be careful, they’re feisty.” So that’s what Cedric meant. He had known she was going to sneak in? Huh. She felt a smile spread and warmness on her cheeks but didn’t allow herself to be distracted. “Let’s go while it’s on the other side—I bet its some sort of alarm. They don’t seem to have any eyes.”  
So they snuck into the common room. One by one, they each took a careful analysis of the room, as not to run into any plants. Rosemary was right—they did not see them, though one stopped for a long minute and turned into their direction. They stood frozen but the flower moved on with its march.  
  
Hufflepuffs were very deep sleepers, as was the essence of the common room gave off. She could feel it as she breathed in its air—it made her sleepy in the dark room but she blinked several times to get rid of the drowsiness, and led them to what she assumed to the be the girls’ common room, with the evidence of a witch’s hat on the door.  
  
Slowly, and most carefully, Ariel opened the door. Inside, every girl was asleep in the dormitory furnished with comfortable wooden bedsteads, all covered in patchwork quilts. And so they set off to work. 

The next morning, they were delighted to see a very frustrated Lauren McCarty marching down to the Great Hall, reeking of rotten eggs and with her usually honey blond hair a scathing mess of green. She gave the entire table murderous glares, not knowing who exactly from the table was responsible but knowing, with the iconic color chosen to sit in her hair, that it was one of the Slytherins.  
  
Laughing, Ariel told her that the color they’d painted her nails may be clear and unnoticeable but made for a very clumsy spell work, as well as potions. She would drop things into the cauldron, and drop things in general. Her wand would slip right out of her hands. Even after the green would wash from her hair, she’d always have the moving rotten egg smell to torment her.  
  
“Never mess with Slytherins.” Ariel winked. Rose sat eating her American chocolate spread that Ariel had made for her in glee, which would continue through her day as she learned of the breakup between the Heads. Whoops.  
Rosemary was treading cautiously through the water of trying to be friends with Harry, who was friends with Ron, while being a Slytherin. Not only did she worry about the remarks made by Strawberry Longlegs but she also had to worry about what baby dragon—Draco— had to say. Every, three seconds.  
  
“Right—like he’s even that special. Potter, with his stupid scar, and his stupid red-haired friend and his stupid fame…” Draco was grumbling on Wednesday evening, during the homework period. The common room was mostly quiet during these times of the evening, where everyone was sprawled around the common room, working on homework. Some were banded together in a group, with the same subject, but most had spread over tables or couches. The seventh years were usually in the library for this, but the fifth years all banded in one table. The rest were calling out questions and receiving several different replies, usually right and if not, there was a competition on who could prove the other wrong. Rosemary usually sat with her brother but her brother usually just mumbled his way through their potions homework, all the grumblings having something to do with Harry.  
  
Rosemary, having been toned enough by his repetitive grumbling, kept writing.  
  
“I’ll show him tomorrow—I’ll show him good.” Draco decided then completed his own homework silently, if not to ask his sister questions. He found asking the group nerve wracking—Rosemary never asked and never answered any group directed questions. It was always giving her anxiety, as well as him, it seemed.  
  
Hermione too, shared worries of flying the next morning at the library before breakfast. She had checked out ever book about flying available and was talking her head off at Rose, wondering if she had pointers. Though Rose did not boast as much about being a magnificent flyer as her brother did (terribly dramatic stories, most times ending with avoiding helicopters), she was a magnificent flyer and could only offer the advice of trusting her balance and herself and not to be so nervous. This made Hermione more nervous, Rose noticed, as they parted ways to go to their own house tables. Rosemary was prudent on finding a way to break the unwritten but enforced rule of siting with only your house.  
  
So at three thirty, the Gryffindors joined the Slytherins onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under Rose’s feet as the Gryffindors came marching down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. At their feet, twenty broomsticks lay in neat lines on the ground.  
  
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.  
  
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."  
  
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.  
  
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'  
  
"UP” everyone shouted. Rose’s flew into her hand immediately, and she smiled. Across from her, she saw Harry’s had too. No wonder. His father was a flying legend—though she was never allowed to say that, as it would be admitting her mother was second best and saying her mother was second best was not something you say out loud.  
  
Hermione’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all, she noticed.  
  
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. She smiled down at how Rose had gotten on, but corrected Draco and she bit down a smile. He’d always been the one to show off.  
  
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two --"  
  
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.  
  
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Rose saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and -- WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.  
  
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.  
  
"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."  
  
She turned to the rest of the class.  
  
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear." Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.  
  
No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"  
Some other Slytherins joined in. “Draco, stop.” Rosemary said.  
  
"Yeah, shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.  
  
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl who Rose tried not to judge too harshly but could not do so without cringing. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."  
  
"Pansy!” Rose gasped. Pansy shrugged, a cruel smile on her face. Rose rolled her eyes, and her eyes fell on a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. She reached down and picked it up, examining it. A Remmebral. Who would drop a—“Does this belong to any—”  
  
“Look!" Draco darted forward, grabbing from her hands so harshly that he pushed her back into Harry and Hermione, who had formed a circle around, composed of Slytherins and Gryffindors. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."  
"Draco, give it back.” Rose said, holding her hand out. “You aren’t funny—it doesn’t belong to you.”  
  
“Neither does it belong to you,” He mocked and she narrowed her eyes, dropping her hand in the hopes of not producing any of her…um, special magic.  
  
“Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Rose turned to him to see he’d walked closer to the inner circle, standing next to Rose. Glancing between the two, she saw Draco smile nastily. If he wouldn’t act like a brother in the midst of his friends, why would he act decent to anyone?  
  
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about -- up a tree?"  
  
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Draco had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"  
  
Harry grabbed his broom.  
  
"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move -- you'll get us all into trouble." Harry seemed to ignore her. Rosemary, staring at him in amazement, watched him as he mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. Rosemary was amazed at this, as he was not only a good flyer but he had defied Draco—something she wished she could do without being punished. Hermione was right—he would get into loads of trouble if he was caught but he was off for a friend. She watched, mesmerized by his unfamiliar character. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and some girls from Gryffindor screamed and gasped while Ronald Weasley whooped. The Slytherins too, were watching. Hermione, standing next to her, huffed, “What. An. Idiot.”  
  
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Draco in midair. Draco looked stunned.  
  
"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"  
  
"Oh, yeah?" said Draco called back but he seemed worried. Rose rolled her eyes.  
Harry leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Draco like a javelin. Draco only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. Rose’s lips spread in a smile. “You must admit, Hermione, he’s excellent.”  
  
“Excellent at trouble, if that’s what you mean.” She grumbled, but watched, nonetheless, with a worried scowl.  
  
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called. Rose stifled a laugh.  
  
"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.  
  
Rose was a very sharp girl so she made out the shape of the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. Harry did too. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down -- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball -- he stretched out his hand -- a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. The first thought as he reached the ground that went through Rose’s mind was that he would be the best seeker the Gryffindor team would have.  
  
"HARRY POTTER!"  
  
The cheers died down as Professor McGonagall marched down towards their group. "Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck --"  
  
"It wasn't his fault, Professor --" Rose tried, but was caught off.  
  
"Be quiet, Miss Malfoy.”  
  
"But Malfoy --" Ronald Weasley started, but was, too, caught off.  
  
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."  
  
There was a quiet assertive of murmurs around the group and Rosemary cringed. The class continued and ended but there was nothing any more entertaining as the little show. Harry did not come back to class, and Draco was quite smug at this. Draco was very smug throughout the class though Rose flew the best and earned ten points to Slytherin. On the way back to the common room, however, Rose stopped. She would need to speak to McGonagall about Harry and about what had happened was mainly provoked by her brother. It seemed like a weak argument but she should at least try.  
So she spun down the hallway and started making her way up to McGonagall’s office when a voice leered her away. She turned and found no one there. Frowning, she turned once more and found herself alone in the corridor she now realized was the wrong way to McGonagall’s office. Once more, she huffed and turned and jumped so harshly, she nearly tripped.  
  
Down the hall, now catching their attention, were the three fourth year boys that had been staring at her and had moved away because of the boys that had surrounded the first year girls. For a long second, the only thing she could think of was that she was alone, with no Ambris or Ariel to help her and they seemed to sniff this out.  
  
“Hey there,” One of the boys called down, and with her heart in her throat, she stared back. “It’s the newest snake to our very own snake house.” The boys behind him laughed. She felt her hands shake from the sudden anxiety rushing through her veins. They were approaching her fast—or was it that she started backing up?  
  
“Oh, don’t be like that! You seem lost—why don’t I slytherin (slither in) and help?” The boys again laughed, but the leader, a taller, stocky character with well-groomed hair had a sudden interest as his eyes wandered down her body.  
  
“I don’t know boys, she’s a pretty snake.” His eyes, now back to her face and staring at her neck, filled with a different look that she could not identify as she had never seen anyone look at her like that. It made her heart beat faster and sweat cog in her hands. “I think it’s time this one shed its skin—or clothes…what you got under there, snake?”  
  
And so Rosemary had taken one step back and that’s all it took for the lion to pounce.


	6. (Warning: Rape) Midnight Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a big portion of this chapter of Rose waking up to an aftermath of rape, though the word is never said. It's very obvious it was a rape and if this is a trigger, you can skip to the end for a brief enough summary of the chapter.

Rosemary only remembered the rush of water.  
  
When she was younger, she knew she loved the water. There was a lake, not too far from their home. It was perfect for the hot summers, though she had seen so little of it as she was usually always locked into the house. When allowed to, she and Draco always traveled the little journey to swim in the lake, and in the winter, she alone went to skate with her mother.  
  
It had only been when the frozen lake had cracked and she had fallen in when she was very, very young and she nearly drowned, it was only in that moment she realized the dangers and how scary it was to have lost control. She’d lost control over something—she was screaming so much that day it made her head throb thinking about it. In the moment she woke up with a throbbing headache and a painful sear in her body, she knew she had lost some sort of control. She woke up in a bathroom—known as Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, but the ghost girl it was named after was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was red on the floor. She was alone.  
  
She started to sit up. But as she did so, she found that there was a growing pain in her…she realized quickly where the pain was coming from and leaned at an axis to instinctively reach down. She touched something wet…paralyzed, she looked down to her hand as she brought it into view. Red liquid covered her now trembling fingers. Frozen on the floor, she let her eyes adjust for a few moments, taking in her surroundings more clearly. There was running water somewhere. It was loud. She glanced up and down the faucets and found one of the faucets running, and spill over off the sink. She was leaning on one palm and arm to push herself up but the arm had given out and she fell back onto the floor. Shivers were running up and down her back as she felt water slowly reach her bare legs. She felt something sharp by her knee. Fumbling around, she found a piece of glass. It was covered in her blood. A quick glance informed her of a broken mirror closest to her. She could see a mirror peeking from the faucet, ready to fall off if nudged enough.  
  
She felt sore and her arm was ready to give out but she threw the glass away from her and moved her hand around to feel up her upper body, looking for any unfamiliar objects littering her body. She ended up finding nothing, though she could feel glass surrounding her. She tried again to move but there was another, sharper pain. Her legs felt sore and her arms were too. She was gasping by the time she could manage to pull herself to the nearest stall for support, carefully, to lean on without the use of her arms. She didn’t realize until now, but the blood seemed to be coming from her. Confused and disoriented, she looked down once more and finally seemed to register the blood, coating her legs. More specifically her inner thighs and skirt. Her shirt was open and several buttons were missing, thread sticking out as if the buttons were forcibly removed.  
  
It took longer than she would have needed to recognize the damage—blood on her thighs, her shirt’s buttons ripped off her, bruises painting her chest and legs. They were all freshly forming. Hot tears immediately seemed to pour down her face in response to the pain as it worsened. She was weak and covered in blood and in pain and she couldn’t move to get up without having caused more pain. She remembered one thing, and one thing passed clearly through her mind.  
  
“The Gryffindors have a sort of rivalry with Slytherin and the older students think it’s funny to take it to the younger students of our house. This is why we, older students, will escort you to most classes and you must always stick in groups of at least four. Please, please do not wander about on your own, fearing the chance you could be cornered. This one is especially to the girls: do not, under any circumstances, provoke the boys. They are eager to show their support of our rivalry and will do so on you. And, this goes to everyone, as I have repeated these words since my second year, do not, under any circumstances, keep it a secret if someone, may it be Gryffindor or not, bother you. Let the older kids know, especially if the attackers have told you not to. You can speak about anything here—your house is now considered to be several members of your family now.”  
  
The words, as if on a replay, were going through her head again and again. She found herself trembling, shaking and shuddering, her chest shaking with sobs but it was becoming harder and harder to draw a breath and it felt like her mind was going black in spots around her eyes. No, no, no, no, not to me…  
  
She started moving faster as her chest moved, and there was a hot flash of pain moving up and down her body. It was especially on fire down between her legs… “Agh--!” She cried out, pushing through tears and pain and pushing herself to sit up against the stall. She was dizzy from the pain and couldn’t see straight as the room titled. She was not—no, she was not. “Ow, ow, ow, ooowwwww,” She cried a little harder as she pressed herself against the stall, trying to desperately tune into her surroundings and ignore the black spots. What…had happened…?  
  
She didn’t remember anything—nothing. The only thing she could piece together was the sound of rushing water, but this only brought back the memories of almost drowning. Maybe nothing did…? She probably slipped and hit her head…slipped right into the mirror…and cut herself…  
  
She tasted salty tears and they strung her lips, as if they had been torn open. She reached her hand up to her lips and found her lips stinging and she sobbed. How would her lips have been torn open? Maybe she fell really badly into the mirror…this didn’t explain the burning pain in her between her legs. 

At some point, she pushed through the burning pain to reach for her school robes, to push her arms through the right holes and to button it up and cover herself as much as possible. It made sense—the Slytherin common room was cold. She was burning and sweating and crying from the hot pain. Cold shivers ran up and down her back, making her nauseous from the strange temperature change.  
  
It took much too longer than it should have, to pull her robes on properly. When she did, she picked up her bag. She bent a tad in the wrong direction for just a moment and screamed, and there was a splitting, crashing sound she thought had to be her legs. When she looked up, however, she saw broken pieces of the mirrors. She sobbed terribly as she was bent, afraid to move, afraid of more pain. Slowly, ever so slowly, she slowly stood straight. She couldn’t feel her hands, they were so cold, but she knew it was so painful her nerves had numbed to cold. The blood was wiped off onto her skirt, which was hidden under the closely bound robes, and her hair was a knotted mess. She could not pull it back but she did put it under the hood of her robes.  
  
She stood against the wall for what she thought was a few minutes but found it was longer, as her pain started numbing slightly from being so intense. She still felt the same dizziness, now added in with nausea. She needed to get out of there—should someone find her, then what? How could she explain the damage without telling them about those—she pulled out her wand at the thought and immediately performed a repairing spell.  
  
“Good thing you cleaned that mess up,” She would have jumped in fright but she wobbled in fright, snapping to the source of the voice. She had never caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle until then. She was a squat ghost with pimples and thick glasses. She was folding her arms, and hiccuping. “Good, too, I would have been mighty upset if you left it like that. I hate messes.”  
  
She was sliding against the wall, losing her balance, and the first thing she thought to say was, “And what do they call you?”  
  
Moaning Myrtle huffed, “Why do you care?” Rose, unable to answer for she was gasping in pain, doubled over. “What happened to you? You aren’t dying are you?!” She asked, “I’d hate to share my bathroom with a Slyterin! No matter how lonely it’s been here…” She started crying, shadowing over Rose’s gasps of pain. She felt fresh tears sting her eyes. She refused to cry in front of anyone, even a ghost.  
  
“What is your name, should you have one?” She asked through gritted teeth. She knew the answer.  
  
“Why should a Slytherin student care? I hate Slytherins, the last one got me killed!” She wailed and turned to dive into a toilet. It was a full minute of Rose’s shallow breathing before her company’s sniffles added to the white noise. “I like to be called Elizabeth. Are you dying?” She asked.  
“I hope not,” She said, hunching.  
“Why? Don’t want to share a bathroom with me, do you?” She screamed. “No one ever has, why should I be surprised that no one wants me?!” She wailed and started crying harder. The loud wailing was going to attract someone sooner or later, so she took this as her signal to get out.  
“I’ll see you, Elizabeth.” She seethed before basically limping out. 

She made it to her common room. Her legs were numbing slightly and her chest was still moving much too fast, and her vision tilted in and out but she was able to find her way to a secret passage, behind a dark corner. It was much later than usual. She had nearly thirteen seconds of having a moment of reaction as she saw a silhouette of a person move down towards her, noticing her and for a moment of fear, she wondered if—but then she could make out Ariel was rushing to her. “Where were you? What happened to your hair? Was it that asshole Peeves?” She asked, her features from moving from worried to scolding. “He’s so annoying. Anyway—you good?”  
  
Rose nodded immediately, hoping it looked believable. “Well, okay. Okay, so you know Harry Potter right? You had your flying class with him?” Rose nodded once more. “Well, he’s been made the Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was a secret, so naturally, we knew.”  
  
Rose nodded along, thankful when Ariel let her loop her arm around hers. “It’s so unfair. Of course Gryffindor would get a first year seeker—why not? It’s Gryffindor. I’ve seen you dash across the common room after a malfunctioning potion, you’re just as fast as you are sharp.” So why hadn’t she done anything earlier that day? Her mind was so tired, she rubbed her eyes. “And I bet if I were to point this out, McGonagall would brush us off. God, why are Gryffindors seen so great anyway?” Yeah, why, she thought as she dropped her book bag onto her bed. “Honestly, we are so similar! And you know what? Harry Potter is a first year seeker because of it! God, how long do you think it’ll take to convince Cass to take back his post as captain, so those assholes will let girls on the team?” Rose had shrugged, but found it irritating that Ariel didn’t take the hint that she wanted to be alone.  
  
The sound of running water was frightening when she stood in the shower that night. But she was delved in warmth and she felt so—so dirty. She thought about the past week, of her classes and of her homework and of her friends, and of the boys that had stared down the boys who had—who had done nothing but probably cut her and that’s all. She was only just bullied, that’s all.  
It was about dinner time when got out, and she redressed in her non-school clothes and decided she would act as if though nothing would happen. Because nothing had happened. Exactly. She was warned—it was her own fault for being out alone in the corridors. She was such an idiot, honestly.  
  
But when she finished dressing, she found that there was an ache once more, especially in her legs and right in-between them. Trying desperately to ignore this, she told her housemates that she would skip dinner that night to finish studying.  
  
She tried to study, but found no position comfortable, as she was shifting every three minutes, finding it expertly painful to sit, even with a pillow between her legs. They were sore and she could barely stand. She shifted the pillow from her legs and moved again to sit upwards, but it hurt more now. She lent her head on her arm, trying desperately to hide the tears and at some point, her sleeve was much too wet to ignore and there was the pain to focus on and and and and and

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall and been given a spot on the Quidditch team. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.  
  
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest house player in about—”  
“—a century, said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."  
  
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.  
  
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."  
  
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.  
  
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too -- Beaters."  
  
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."  
  
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."  
  
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."  
  
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry noticed that he wasn’t being followed by his sister. Rosemary seemed like an alright girl but by what Ron told him, he wasn’t so sure. She seemed nice enough in their classes and smiled at him lots but he didn’t know who or what to believe. She was often seen with her brother, as they seemed close enough—and that was enough to warn Harry away from her.  
  
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"  
  
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. His eyes wandered to the Slytherin table, “Where’s your sister?” He asked without a second thought.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes grew to slits and he stood straighter, “Why d’you care? Have a crush on my sister now?”  
  
  
“No,” Harry said through gritted teeth.  
  
“Good, it won’t do her any good to have the Boy Who Would Lose At A Duel Against Her Brother on her trail.”  
  
"A duel?”  
  
“Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?” He sneered a smile. “Should have thought better. My mistake, Potter. I would have bested you either way, it seems.”  
  
"He’s heard of it," said Ron, wheeling around. "Are you proposing one, then, or are you all talk?”  
  
“I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact. What's the matter? Scared?”  
  
“I'm his second, who's yours?" Ron said immediately, much to Harry’s hidden confusion.  
  
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."  
  
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"  
  
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."  
  
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"  
  
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.  
  
"Excuse me." They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.  
  
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.  
  
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.  
  
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"  
  
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.  
  
"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."  
  
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.  
  
"Good-bye," said Ron.  
  
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."  
  
There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

She woke up at the common room desk, with her books spread about her. Her legs were now only a sore tired and someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders. The only light was from the fireplace closest to her. In front of her, Draco was tapping his finger on the rim of his book. Sleepily, she sat up. “What’s the time?”  
  
He didn’t need to check his watch to know, “About eleven,” He set his book down with a smile, a very suspicious grin. “An hour before Potter and that stupid blood traitor are kicked out of Gryffindor, I bet.”  
  
Startled by his words, she sat up straighter faster, and cringed at the sharp pain up her legs. “What?!” Her head was pounding and her throat was screaming in protest. “What do you mean?” She asked drowsily.  
  
Draco then informed her of a master plan—he had challenged Harry to a duel at midnight, and Ronald Weasley would be his second. Rose, sensing Draco’s intentions, sniffed out his plans immediately, “And you aren’t showing up? Yes, Draco, you’ve truly out done yourself.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, “Right—do you not know me at all, Mary?” He was the only allowed to call her Mary. “I’ve informed that filthy caretaker, the Squib, and they’ll both be caught right as they enter the trophy room. Let’s both hope they’ll be sent back tonight—I’d like for it to be clear tomorrow.”  
  
Rose, registering the words slowly, and finally understanding his plot, threw the blanket off her as she stood quickly. “Draco! Oh Merlin, why—? UgH!” She quickly grabbed her robe off the back of her chair and near about tripped in pain as she ran out.  
  
Draco was always pulling plots like this but she tried to find her way out of it. Now, doing it to the boy she hoped to be friends with was not exactly what she wanted to be branded with. She knew that Harry was best friends with Ronald Weasley—it was obvious—but Ronald Weasley hated her! Should Draco do anything of this sort, she would be known to him as only a replica of Draco to Ronald Weasley and Harry would listen to Ron about it. It seemed obvious to her, that she needed to stop them—or at least warn them. This is the logic she countered as she snuck out the dungeons, after checking for Snape down the halls.  
  
She kept close to the shadows, limping at points but kept close to the shadows as she found her way to the Gryffindor Tower. Hermione had shown it to her once and as if though thinking her name attracted her to her location, she ran right into her in the darkened corner. She was with Harry, Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom. “Oh!” She gasped, suddenly understand why her heart had been beating widely. She’d just wandered out alone into the corridors towards the Gryffindor Tower. Again, what an idiot she was! Honestly!  
  
“Rosemary? What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, stopping to look her over. “I thought you were better than this! Sneaking out at night for what, exactly?”  
  
“To warn you,” She’d barely gotten the words out when Ronald had pulled Harry down the corridor, muttering something about how she’d probably been sent by her brother. His words were louder than hers, and she turned as they did, limping to keep up. “Honestly, you can’t do this. It’s a trick.”  
  
“What do you mean a trick?” Harry paused, looking at her in suspicion. “How?”  
  
Before she could explain, Ronald again swept over them. “She’s probably trying to derail us—have you not show up, and her brother will make a laugh out of it. Come on,”  
  
So she was stuck trying to explain through gasps of pain, all explained briefly by Ron that she was trying to draw attention to herself, and only Hermione and Neville would listen to her gasps of lacking of sense explanations.  
  
They entered the trophy room, Rose pausing just outside. She wondered if Filch was in there, but as she saw no one being yelled at, she entered with Hermione. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.  
  
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered. Hermione was anxius.  
  
“Rosemary is right—this is just a trick. Let’s go ba—”  
  
Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry started raising his wand.  
  
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Adrenaline seemed to pulse through her veins and Rose, being the one who knew the castle the very best of the group, crept silently behind, pulling on Hermione’s arm with her. The other followed just as anxiously and they crept along the wall, waiting for Filch to throw open the door. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. They were just behind the door, hidden. The door open with a big enough slit in between—it was a rather big door, and it opened with a good opening for them to slip through.  
  
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding." As soon as Rose saw the cat with its back to them, she pulled Hermione with her through the crack and both girls were safely out. Linked by the arms, they waited for the boys. They each came out, and Rose pulled Harry and Ron out of the way of a suit of armor just by the crack opening but was not fast enough for Neville. He suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist as Rose grabbed him and he slipped out of her hand, and the pair of them toppled right into the suit of armor.  
  
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.  
  
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following -- they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going -- they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.  
  
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.  
  
“I -- told -you," Rose gasped, clutching her chest, "I -- told -- you." He legs were killing her and she felt adrenaline slowly wear off, the more it brought out the pain in her nether regions.  
  
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."  
  
"Rose was right—and you were foolish to doubt her. Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you -- Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."  
Rosemary was satisfied with Hermione’s statement and thought she saw Harry agree, though he said nothing.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.  
  
"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out."  
  
Peeves cackled.  
  
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."  
  
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."  
  
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."  
  
“I’ll tell the Bloody Baron you’re harassing a Slytherin student if you don’t leave us alone!” Rosemary threatened, her dark eyes staring at him. For a long moment, he looked scared and started moving away. The second Rose looked away, though, he started yelling,  
  
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR"  
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.  
  
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.  
  
"Oh, move over," Rose hushed him, turning to Harry and undoing the clip from his robes and turned quickly to stick the clip into the door and found it to unlock it gracefully. She stood satisfied, “Bet they don’t teach you that in Gryffindor,” She said and was pushed in by Hermione.  
  
They piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.  
  
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."  
  
"Say 'please."'  
  
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"  
  
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.  
  
"All right -please."  
  
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage. Rose, satisfied, turned and immediately halted. Hermione, noticing, did the same. She lost the breath in her mouth and fell into Rose, but Rose remained frozen, staring.  
  
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered from behind them. "I think we'll be okay -- get off, Neville!" A moment passed. "What is it?" A shift in movement notified Rose that Harry had turned around and realized that they weren't in a room. Instead, they were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.  
  
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.  
  
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Rose knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.  
  
Someone groped for the doorknob and Rose was pulled harshly back by Hermione.  
  
They fell backward -- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached a random portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.  
  
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces. "And why is there a Slytherin with you? Slytherin aren’t—”  
  
“Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. Hermione continued to pull Rose, and Rose, being much too startled to protest, was dragged into the Gryffindor common room.  
  
The Gryffindor common room is a circular room, decorated in several shades of red. Much like Slytherin, they associated a lot with their house colors in their common room. Full of squashy armchairs, tables, and a bulletin board with school notices, ads, lost posters, and more were posted, the Gryffindor common room gave off a very warm (literally) version of a cottage almost. There are many windows that probably look out onto the grounds of the school, and a large fireplace dominates one wall. The mantle of the fireplace is adorned with a portrait of a lion. The walls are decorated with scarlet tapestries that depict witches and wizards, but also various animals. There are also bookcases located in the room, seemingly filled with various novels.  
  
Hermione, still with her arm linked with hers, collapsed into one chair, taking Rose with them. They both fit perfectly.  
  
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.  
  
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ronald said finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."  
  
Hermione, who’d been slouched on Rose’s shoulder, breathing heavily, sat up. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?  
  
"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."  
  
"A door—trapdoor. It seemed to be guarding something.” Rose muttered and Hermione nodded in approval.  
  
“I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. If only we’d taken your advice and not gone.” Hermione directed her last words to Rose. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."  
  
Ron stared after her, his mouth open.  
  
"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?” Rose, sitting now alone on the arm chair, had dragged her feet up to her chest, her heart still thundering in her chest. As Ron and Harry went up, and only Neville and Rose remained, Neville stayed too.  
  
And so Rose, alone in the presence of a boy, at night in the dormitories of the same boys who’d… She started to cry silently, into her arms, which were wrapped around her knees. Neville shuffled in his spot for a moment, before walking and then coming back. “I’m not sure what’s wrong, but my gran’s always told me hot chocolate does wonders if there is.” So he gave her two packets of what seemed to be—what? Portable hot chocolate? Then she was left alone in front of a roaring fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Rose wakes up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, covered in blood. She starts getting up but there's a pain in her legs. The important point is that the mirrors start shattering when she screams in pain trying to get up, and that Myrtle says the last Slytherin in her bathroom killed her.   
> She gets on the Quidditch team as a backup for Seeker, Keeper and Chaser. Draco tells her about another ploy to get Harry in trouble, she goes out to warn them, they find the dog thing and then, in the Gryffindor common room, Neville is really nice to her when she starts crying. He gives her hot chocolate.


	7. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is just trying to be Hermione's friend and then is attacked by a troll.

Rose drew closer to Ariel, who didn’t notice this sudden change (though she noticed and noted on why she seemed more jumpy and hyper) and the two were, as usual, accompanied by the taller, older boys and with Castiel that morning. Too bad they couldn’t be there before…Castiel was beaming now, and was talking of Quidditch, making their entire group of friends happy at the news. He was to take back his team—and, as Ariel insisted her do, was to accompany her to McGonagall to demand the other houses have a first year join be able to join their respective teams as well. It only seemed fair, as a first year joined the Gryffindor team without even trying out like everyone else.  
  
Sitting at her usual place at the Slytherin table, the usual post arrived. For a long moment, she was surprised when an owl swooped down in front of her, with a letter in hand. Had her parents wrote to her…? Petting the owl with one finger and having it hoot admiringly, she looked at the letter curiously.  
  
The same, messy handwriting addressed her, R. Malfoy.  
  
Having forgotten all about her extended family, a sudden and swift change of emotion rolled through her chest and she smiled. Her glee did not last long when she had to hide her letter when her brother came over, “Has mum written?”  
She nodded, “Just a few tips on a girl thing.” Just saying the words, ‘a girl thing’ frightened her immature bother away and he turned to look across the great hall. He then wondered if she had anything to do with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter still sitting at their house table. 

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package theory—it had been something Hagrid had said. Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide, except perhaps Hogwarts. It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was, and so he told Ron. They spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.  
  
"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.  
  
"Or both," said Harry.  
  
But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues. Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor, and when Harry glanced over to the Slytherin table, he was Rose not looking worried about anything in the slightest, holding a letter in her hand and speaking to her older housemates. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again. Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. She only seemed to be speaking to Rosemary, as they had greeted each other in the morning on purpose. Hermione had waited by the Great Hall doors for her, it seemed.  
  
All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later. As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.  
  
Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said: DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.  
-Professor McGonagall  
  
Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.  
  
"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."  
  
They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy, followed by Rose, who’d had her nose buried in—another—letter (she’d been receiving much more than her brother, though Harry pretended not to be envious of having someone to write to), walked into his back. Looking up, startled, she took in the two boys and the package, which was seized by her brother. Malfoy blindly examined it with his hands.  
  
"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."  
  
Ron couldn't resist it. "It's not any old broomstick," he said, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."  
  
"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."  
  
Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked. "Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.  
  
"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"  
  
"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sit," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. Rose, whoever, looked happy.   
"And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.  
  
Rose followed them up the stairs as they tried to smother in their laughter over Malfoys confusion and anger, “You’ve made the team, haven’t you? It’s all my housemates can talk about.”  
  
“Isn’t it supposed to be a secret? How’d they find out?” Harry asked, stopping a couple stairs higher than her. Rose cocked her head to the side, a lose strand of her silvery blonde hair finding its way loose from behind her ear.  
  
“We know everybody’s secrets—it’s a gift. Seeker, are you?” She asked, climbing a step higher towards them. “Understandable.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
“Haven’t I told you that my mum played with your dad? Quidditch runs through ours veins, I hope to play as well,” She smiled for a moment, but imagined what sitting on a broomstick would feel like now and she cringed internally. “I just wanted to congratulate you,” She took another step towards him. “And warn you. Our old team captain may play this year and the Slytherin team rages in cheating. Be. Careful.”  
  
And then she took a step back and spun, Harry watched as her graceful frame moved swiftly down the stairs and her braided, pinned up hair disappeared behind a corridor as he watched after her. He thought of her warning as they headed upstairs. "Well, she can’t be all that bad,” Harry said when Ron made another remark about her. “Her brother did help me get my spot on the team," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn’t be on the team...."  
  
"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came another voice from down below them, but this one was angry. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.  
  
"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.  
  
"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good." Hermione marched away with her nose held high.  
  
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.  
  
"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread. Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.  
  
As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field.  
  
He’d never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.  
  
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling -- he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch. "Hey, Potter, come down!'

Ariel paced, back and forth, in McGonagall’s office. Her dark hair was pulled up, out of its usual long dark mane. She was wearing jeans and an orange tank top, under an open plaid shirt. Her pacing was very distracting to Rose, who’d never been distracted so much.  
  
They’d spoken to Professor Snape about the first year’s Quidditch player. He had been barely a slither of help—they went against his suggestion and now booked an appointment with McGonagall, who’d just finished her last class of the evening and should be arriving any—  
  
McGongall did not seem surprised when she entered roughly, shutting the door behind her. “You know, girls, I should not be surprised that you have booked my entire evening for just one question.”  
  
“Well, are you?” Rosemary asked.  
  
“No,” McGonagall made her way to her chair, and gestured for Ariel to sit. “But I will, however, ask anyway. What brings you to my entire free evening, Misses Malfoy and Martin?”  
  
“Professor, we’d like to question on why you let a Gryffindor first year onto the team, without going to try outs, without consulting the head of the team and without consulting the other teams—or, I dare say, the Master.”  
  
“Now, Miss Martin—”  
  
“It’s injust, unfair, unequal. Albeit, Slytherin may win every year, but that gives Gryffindor no right to adopt a first year into their team, with no proper training, or proper knowledge of Quidditch, a month into his first year of schooling. Rosemary—Miss Malfoy is a phenomenal Quidditch player. Fastest ever to ride and very sharp—but Professor Snape denies she even consider trying out! It’s simply unfair—”  
  
“As you’ve made your point. Being your teacher for a year has prepared me with an offer—you may train one first year student as a replacement and one only, should any of your current team members of the person’s house be unable to perform at task. I believe Mister Castiel Fordman should take up his position as team captain once again? I must assume your house should have a student ready to take up this offer?”  
  
Ariel had already executed a house meeting of this (she seemed to prepared in every other situation but this seemed to be her very most top priority)—the other house members thought this was a lost cause but half of them agreed Rosemary would take the place of the first year allowed to play, as Ariel suspected this meeting would turn out. Draco had also tried, but more than half the house were very fond of Rosemary’s excellent sportsmanship when fetching ingredients for potion ingredients that they found it only best to vote her in and owed her one. “Rosemary will.”  
  
“Splendid. The Headmaster will be delighted at such young ambitious girls, ready at task,” McGonagall gave the girls a rare smile. “Never lose it. Now, if you please.”  
  
The girls roamed down the Charms corridor and then Rose led Ariel up to the hospital wing, hoping to find some volunteering hours. Ariel didn’t mind the added trip, she was smiling in such glee, and she couldn’t help smiling through an insult at Peeves when they ran into him.  
  
Rosemary met with Castiel, having had taken the post of the Quidditch team captain, much to the chagrin of the old one, Marcus Flint, and set her to train with the rest of the team. A little question and demonstration proved she was capable of taking up the positions of Seeker, Chaser and Keeper. She was much too small and potentially fast and sharp to play for Bludger’s position but she kept note of how they played when they practiced, shifting uncomfortably on the broom. She was still sore but refused out loud to see the nurse…stupidly, of course, because there was still no proof…who would believe her?  
  
Meanwhile, Rose had a tough time adjusting to flying on a broom again. It hurt severely between her legs, with bruises adorning her body and having to fly. She adored flying but now it only caused for a very painful experience. A certain anxiety also pressed against her chest every time she soared into the air on her broom. Her father sent her her broom, making her brother quite irritated though she let him fly around in secret. She always found herself shaking and trembling, her hands gripping all too tight on the handle. She tried desperately to think of anything but her racing heart as she flew. The presence of Castiel was comforting, though he was adamant on enforcing a non-cheating streak. Unfortunately for the other players, only Rose knew of this plan, and they would each keep a look out for the cheating they were promised. Kicking the cheaters off the team would take time, should they find out their plan.  
  
She was becoming rather bored in her lessons, however, having already studied the material. She found a History of Magic rather painfully slow, and started thinking of Nymphadora Tonks. The letter she had sent was filled with questions of her life and the story behind how she had not ever heard of her family and she had received was rather concerning—Rose’s parents apparently were very adamant on keeping Rose (and Draco) away from any blood traitor family, no matter their connection to them. She also told her about her life as an Auror in training. She called herself clumsy and Rose could believe it, as her handwriting was rather all over the place, and there were several smudge marks, as if her hand had slipped across the parchment.  
  
Dora was young enough that her stories were not boring and were funny and cool, but old enough to make Rose envious of her adventures. Being an Auror in training was qualified as one of the coolest jobs a witch could get and Rose found it utterly fascinating that Dora could pass over every creature she’d come across and not want to study it. And the fcat that she came across many creatures while still being in training. Dora was funny and cheerful, recounting stories of fascination Muggle technology, such as ping pongs and scuba diving. Her adventures outside her training and in a more familiar environment—in Hogwarts—were much funnier, as she had the added ability of being a Metamorphagus.  
  
But Dora offered her company and delight only in the daylight.  
  
Her nights ranged from sleepless and insomnia to nightmares and cold sweat. It was always the running water that woke her. She could not shake the feeling of being watched, and touched in her dreams, in places she did not wish to be touched. Her hands always seemed to coil whenever someone would pass her in the halls now, bumping into her shoulder. She was becoming more and more tired by the day, which was no good, since she had lessons to acquire house points with and Quidditch games coming up.  
  
But every time she woke in the dead of the night, the shadows cornered her into her bed space and she always ended up falling back asleep near dawn, having only accomplished an hour or two of sleep. At some points, she would not even sleep. The anxiety pressing behind her eyelids kept her awake, kept her from blinking too long and from finding any courage to ask for something to help her.  
  
But that—that helpless in the situation she didn’t even understand—alone scared her. And angered her. Why did it have to be centered on her? Why did it have to be worded as if she asked for it to happen? She couldn’t have—she didn’t outright want to be…but then why did it feel as if though it was her fault?  
  
It was not her fault. Rosemary Meredith-Lilith Malfoy was—is—a girl who took a great pride in the things she did and accomplished, but this—whatever it was, whatever had happened—was not something she wanted, accomplished or did. This happened to her. But that still didn’t help. In ways, it was her fault—she should not have been alone in the corridor, she should not have been wandering, she should not have parted from her group. But that also put the blame on her group—they should not have let her part. But blaming them was blaming no one. Who was to blame? Those damned boys, that was who.  
  
And the worst part was that she saw them—every single day. And they made sure of it. And at the very wrong moments too. At points, when she knew and convinced herself that she hadn’t done anything wrong, they would pass her and pull at her skirt, whispering to her about her pale legs. They would bump into her and pull at her hair. They would just look at her—and grin. Anger seeped through her—how could they find such happiness in what felt like the destruction of her life? Of the crumbling of her future? Of course, the anger came after the misery. It was her fault—her skirt was much too short, her hair was accessible, she was alone in that corridor.  
  
But that meant that other girls had short skirts, had their hair accessible, are alone in a corridor. Rosemary would never blame them—so why did she blame herself? Blame herself for what exactly, she still had no idea. She had no evidence of a—of a…

Hermione noted how tired Rose seemed the next morning. That morning was supposed to be very good—they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors, but she had woken up many hours before, to the sound of running water and what she thought was a grunt and an ache in her head. Someone pulling at her hair, maybe. It was Halloween and, as Dora called it, she was very much frightened and scared of things unspoken of. She was left alone in the dark.  
  
The day was supposed to be even better after breakfast—Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom—but all she could think about was how sick to her stomach she felt whenever she thought of her skirt and her hair. She kept pulling on her skirt, wishing she had pants, and a shapeless, big sweater on, with a hood. She wanted to cover up her sick, dirty skin and her pale, up-did hair. She felt polluted—she was a polluted ocean.  
  
Hermione noticed her hesitation when they were put into pairs as Hermione was put with Ronald Weasley, someone they shared a mutual dislike in, for obviously different reasons, but a mutual dislike it was. They hadn’t spoken to him since the day Harry’s broom had arrived, and though Hermione and Rose were not friends, they were friendly enough. 

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Rosemary Malfoy (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived. Rosemary seemed defeated—not in her academics, it seemed, because she was still just as annoyingly smart. But she seemed to…sag. Like all the pale color she was was draining and becoming bland. She was near half asleep as Professor Flitwick instructed,  
  
"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."  
  
It was very difficult. To Harry, at least. He swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Rose was falling asleep at her desk, which did not help Harry. When he tried to wake her, she was so startled she called out, “Wingardium Leviosa”, and nearly immediately the feather floated as she fell out of her seat. She didn’t say anything after that, but she also didn’t smile like she usually did when she earned her house ten points and an approving smile from the teacher, and a, “Everyone see here, Miss Malfoy’s done it!”  
  
No, she did not smile. She seemed bored and tired. She had dimples usually showing from a natural, painted smile but she was so neutral now, he wondered if her pet had died, or something. Had she not just bested him, he would have asked her what was wrong.  
  
Twenty minutes later, after Harry and Rose were finished with their example and had sat in silence, a strange thing, as Rose always tried talking to Harry, Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.  
  
"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."  
  
"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled. Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said,  
  
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.  
  
"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Nicely done, Miss Granger!"  
  
Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly.”  
  
Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she was in tears.  
  
"I think she heard you."  
  
"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends. Other than that annoying albino." Rose, who’d been directly in front of Harry, turned and frowned at him in disappointment,  
  
“Misery is caused by miserable people, you know.” She told him in a low voice and she seemed so upset that Harry finally realized what was so off about her—her hair had lost its shine, her voice was dull, her eyes were made boring by the thick under eye circles and her dimples were gone. Harry now regretted not asking her what was wrong as she followed in the steps of Hermione. 

Rosemary did not say a word, and allowed the silence to drown her. Well, silence, but filled with Hermione’s cries. Ronald had hurt her. Every now and then, Hermione would try and calm down but it would come to nothing. She ended up sitting next to her awkwardly, not knowing how to act in such situations. Acting for herself, Hermione had none of this and buried her face in her shoulder. Thinking of nothing else to do, Rose wrapped an arm around Hermione, patting her bushy hair. She hated bathrooms.  
  
It wasn’t until nearly two hours later—two hours!?—had Hermione finally calmed down and just near exploded on Rose. “I’m a muggle-born—I have no wizard family to relate to, no friends to talk to and I feel as if though I’m headed on a very bright future, right? I know I’m doing it right! But every time I see people together at meal times or at the library, I feel so disconnected from the world. I’m smart—but I’m so alone. I miss my parents—I miss my cousins and aunts and uncles. I miss my family—it feels so secluded here.” She sobbed into her shoulder. “And I can’t tell my parents I’m not happy because I’ll just be pulled out of school—and I had a load of a time to convince them to let me come—I had no friends in Muggle school, I have no friends here and I feel like such a dirty liar, telling them lies just so I can stay here. It’s not right for my mental health—I need to be okay, but I’m not and I can’t even talk to my only family about it,” She hiccupped.  
  
Rosemary rubbed soothing circles on her back, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay to admit to weakness,” She found herself saying and surprising herself. “I guess its better than showing no emotion.” She bit herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother smile at anything other than me and my brother.” It was strange—her father barely made her mother smile.  
  
Hermione listened. “My father taught us that showing emotions was showing weakness. Everyone is your enemy, should they know your weakness and see your emotion. I suppose…my brother and I are very far on agreeing with our father.” She admitted silently.  
  
And for a long moment, she was near telling her how she felt tingles in her hands, and how she could…how do you say it? Use magic without a wand. She wanted to explain how she saw perfectly in the dark parts of a corner. How she could do things no one else could—how alone she felt, although being surrounded by half her house, being a part of a large family but being locked in her home most days. She felt so utterly alone and so weak and useless, that she couldn’t hold her anger to stand up for herself. She felt so used—so dirty all the time. She felt like an empty painting, where everything was poised, and planned in the end. She had one, chosen future ahead of her, but how could she face it, knowing what she probably had gone through? Even when she could not even admit it had happened.  
  
“That’s really unhealthy,” Hermione muttered and Rose laughed,  
  
“Yeah, proves to be.” Rose moved, standing up slowly and walking to a stall, grabbing the paper, “I have a snake.”  
  
Hermione sniffed, “S-sorry?”  
  
“A snake. His name is Freddie. He makes me feel better, makes me feel like I’m not alone.” She turned and smiled lightly. “Maybe if you had a pet—maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone.”  
  
“I don’t think snakes make very good pets.” Hermione smiled almost and Rose laughed, a sparkle of sound bouncing around the walls until—“Do you hear that?”  
  
"Hear what?" Hermione had frozen and listened and furrowed her eyebrows, “What is that?” It was weird—they both slowed their breathing and then they heard it more clear—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Rose came out of the stall and Hermione met her eyes with just as much fear. There was talking and then something tall moved and Hermione dashed to Rose immediately. Petrified, the girls watched from the open stall.  
  
Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. The troll—Rose had assumed—had stopped in front of the dark corridor in front of the open doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.  
  
Rose turned to Hermione. They were at the end of the bathroom, and the troll was by the door on the other end. “Climb under the stalls and start crawling to the door—and be quiet.”  
  
Hermione set onto the floor and started crawling under the stalls in front of Rose, who followed. They just about made it out from under the last stall just as the door slammed, and a click in the door told them that the door had been locked and they were trapped—in a bathroom—with a troll—who was now turning to the noise.  
  
Rose reacted faster and grabbed Hermione’s arm and moved back to the back, looking at the windows for help. She took out her wand but her mind was blanked in fear and exhaustion. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins, but any plan she could think of was flawed. Flawed plans made for two girls dying at the hands of a troll. She thought about climb on the wall to the windows but Hermione was shrinking against the wall.  
  
The troll was advancing on them and Rose was still thinking about how to get out those windows, thinking of the summoning spell when suddenly Harry and Ronald Weasley ran into the bathroom. They took in the situation and Harry met Rose’s eyes with panicked green ones. For one, frantic moment, she thought of green grass in the sun and then—  
  
"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The troll stopped a few feet from Rose and Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes turned on Harry. It hesitated for a moment, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.  
  
"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.  
  
"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Rose and Hermione. Rose had an arm around Hermione, about to pull when she realized she had been paralyzed to the floor. Flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror, she couldn’t move. Just touching around her back, she felt her heart beat thundering fast and strong enough for Rose to feel.  
  
The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape. Harry then did something Rose knew in that moment was why he was put into Gryffindor—it both stupid and brave. He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind—and stuck his wand up its nose, straight up one of the troll's nostrils.  
  
Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club. In a long moment of fright, where Hermione had sunk back onto the floor, and Ron had pulled out his own wand and cried "Wingardium Leviosa!", an unbearable feeling found its way to Rose’s chest and suddenly, the glass in the bathroom shattered and the troll took one long pause, raising its arms—now without the club, Ron;s spell finally having worked—to its long ears and tried to shut whatever noise he heard—and then she gasped for air and realized she had screamed.  
  
The club, still above the troll, suddenly rose higher and higher, high up into the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll, already seeming dizzy, swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.  
  
Harry got to his feet. Rose near just about collapsed in a heat of loss of oxygen, and Hermione went to her. Harry took a long look at the troll, but it was Hermione who spoke first. "Is it -- dead?"  
  
“I don't think so," said Harry, “I think it's just been knocked out." He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue. "Urgh -- troll boogers." He wiped it on the troll's trousers. A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars.  
  
A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry, while Snape looked over to his own student, seeming very shocked, and horrified.  
  
It was scarier than McGonagall, however, who never looked so angry. Her lips were white. "What on earth were you thinking of?" Professor McGonagall demanded, with cold fury in her voice. Rose looked at the two, Ronald, whose wand was still in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"  
  
Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look, then his eyes trailed back to Rose, “What has happened—and do not lie, Miss Malfoy.”  
  
Instead of Rose’s voice, it was Hermione’s. “Please, Professor, it wasn’t our fault! I-I was upset and Rose came to talk to me a-and the troll trapped us in!”  
  
"Miss Granger!" Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last, standing by Rose, who was still on the floor, out of breath and feeling dizzy.  
  
“If Ron and Harry hadn’t come looking for us, if they hadn't found us, we'd probably be dead now. Rose knocked me out of the way of getting struck by it and Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone.”  
  
Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them. "Well -- in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head. Rose would have been surprised, had she any breath to do so. She felt her heart rate continue to lift, and she started crouching over her knees. Had no one noticed she was dying on the floor?  
  
McGonagall had sighed, "Well, I am very glad none of you were hurt,” Harry noticed her eyes linger to Rose, who had been panting on the floor just seconds ago, now seeming to have calmed down, though she was crouched over, seeming dizzy. He hadn’t seen her get hurt, maybe it had a strike on her and he didn’t see. “I hope all of you learned a lesson on how extremely serious this is. Well, there’s nothing to do now but to send you all off to your house common rooms. I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. Each of the Gryffindor students win Gryffindor five points. And, to Slytherin, five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go." Rose, raising shakily to her feet, made it only three steps before McGonagall instructed, “I think it best that Miss Granger taken Miss Malfoy to the nurse’s office.”  
  
And as she said so, Rose took one step and then she felt her senses leave her and she was in a dark room, glowing with green. A distant shout was bothering her, but she felt a sense of familiarity in the room. The scream continuous, and for a few moments, played over and over, and then it started to clear up. It was definitely feminine, and very familiar—though it did not sound like anything she’d ever heard. It was…begging.  
  
And then the sound was pushed away by the sound of ringing and then her eyes were fluttering against a pressure. She opened her eyes to Hermione on one side of her and Ariel and several of Slytherin house members on the other side. Ariel rolled her eyes, “No wonder you’re in Slytherin—you’re so dramatic. One fainting spell and six people around your bed.”  
  
“Says the girl who prepared a whole court trial over a first year joining the school Quidditch team.” She said and her throat burned as she said it.  
  
Ariel smirked, “True.”


	8. Broom Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is skilled at gymnastics and doesn't give a f*ck about safety when trying to save her friends--and why do people hate on Slytherins again?
> 
> I was planning on asking a question each chapter, so here's mine: What house are you in and what are your opinions on the houses?

_...though, if you don’t love school by your third year, you will at the end of third year. You can have the castle nearly deserted and set up prank all over the place—the trick is to keep a brand so everyone know its one person but don’t make it obvious it’s you. I have a whole book of cool pranks and tricks you can play—I can send it to you or, should we ever meet, we can totally make some tricking potions. Those are great—you said you were good a potions, right? Well, anyway, I can teach you. I don’t have any siblings to pass my legacy onto—will you continue my legacy, should I give you the book? And keep adding to it—I hear Charlie Weasley’s brother are pretty good at pranking, so I’m only seeing two ways this could go: you team up or you kill each other. I know—it’s morbid, but I have to think like an Auror now. Or, at least that’s what my teacher says. A.M. is a hell of a crazy teacher, but I’ll admit, he’s fantastic. Really. People say he’s crazy—but really, he’s just tasteful. He’s the greatest Auror there ever was, in my opinion. Have you considered any careers yet? I didn’t decide to be an Auror until my second year, but most don’t think of any career until their fifth, so no pressure. I’ll teach you, if you want to be an Auror. We could be such a good team. Actually, I sort of picture you as a nurse—weird? Maybe. How’s the nursing going? I was in the infirmary half my time at Hogwarts. Send love to Madame Pomfrey._  
 _D.T._  
Rose found it strange that Dora never signed her name—or even her teacher’s full name, Alastor Moody. She wondered if it was some Auror law against doing so, but she followed her example and did not sign her own name, always leaving the initial of R.M. This was one of the things she noticed throughout her letters—that, and that Dora sounded so relaxed and enthusiastic, even through letters. It was incredible how much a person could give off through their writing—Rose wondered what Dora thought of her. She’d answered her questions, though they were rather light—what color would she want her room to be? What did she and her brother get along about? What music did she enjoy? What lessons did she find easiest? She tried answering as honest as possible, but always found herself self-conscious of her answers. Why would an Auror (in training) be so interested in a first year’s life? It seemed odd, whether they were cousins or not.

Odd as it was, the correspondence between Dora and Rose had grown. Rose received a letter every second day, writing back the same day. She would expect the letter in return the day after the next. It was a comfortable companionship, though they had never met, and it was easier, probably, than being friends in reality. She was seven years older than Rose, and seemed to be leading such a cool life, that every detail was exciting—her Auror training being most details.

She also wrote to her about her aunt and uncle, Andromeda and Ted Tonks. She came to know much about her aunt and uncle, and came to like them, though again, she’d never had any contact with either. She didn’t write to them, but Dora wrote her stories about funny conveniences that had happened in her family. Ted is an engineer in the Muggle world, he fixed their technology, and Andromeda is a writer for the Daily Prophet, and it seemed so casual of jobs but so strange as well—she’d never had relatives who’s sounded so normal. It drew her to them, though the chance of ever meeting them was rather slim. Much to her chagrin, her parents would never allow their acquaintance. She was even scared of telling Draco about their letters and kept this a secret—one of the first honest secrets she’d ever kept from her brother.

Gradually, October turned into November, and soothing warm, fall weather turned into cool, bitter air. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake chilled like steel. Every morning the ground was covered in more frost, and her breath was visible in the air. The gamekeeper, Hagrid, could be seen from the higher windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver skin boots.

As they entered November, they also entered the Quidditch season. On Saturday, Slytherin would be playing against Gryffindor, the very first game of the year. Should Slytherin win, as promised, they would move up into first place in the house championship. No one knew of Castiel’s new technics, nor how they trained the replacement in several different of these. Rose kept a silent longing of having Slytherin win, no matter the cheating. This made her a little ashamed but she practiced without plans of cheating herself.  
Homework grew boring as she helped Harry and, reluctantly, Ron with theirs. Rose, at least, understood Harry’s struggle to keep up with his school work with so many Quidditch practices his team captain had set for them. Oliver Wood seemed a little crazy to Rose, but nonetheless very enthusiastic. Although, he glanced at her in suspicion several times when she joined Harry and Hermione in the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, but Rose was warmer and so she didn’t care. It must be nice, not always having to bundle up while in your common room.

Rose grew fonder of Harry as they learned to share their Quidditch tips with each other, and she could tell he was growing fond of her too. With Hermione providing him with “Quidditch Through the Ages”, they had loads to talk of. Rose told Harry of the approximate seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

No sooner had Rose and Harry become friends that she felt a rage of anger from the darker side of the Slytherin house. The darker side consisted of those Slytherin students that found they were better than others and that interhouse friendships were corrupt, they believed in cheating and being cruel—those who were more cunning than determined, those more willing to drown their opponents. It consisted of their entire Quidditch team, save Castiel, and her brother, unfortunately, fell into their ranks with his idiot friends, Crabbe and Goyle. It seemed as if though the entire house had been split. The other side found it scandalous that Rose had been associating with the Gryffindors, and her brother was angry she would associate with Gryffindors who were Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and a Muggleborn. It was causing for destruction—but Slytherins seemed a lot more protective of their own. Slytherins plot, it seemed. They did not openly discuss their plans when planning an attack for within their house—they plotted.

And so she was growing anxious when, a day before they were to play their Quidditch game, one of the Chasers for Slytherin had turned up in the hospital wing, with both legs severely injured from a ‘fall’ down the moving stairs. Not many details were given, as she knew of the incident almost immediately, being a volunteer in the hospital wing when he turned up. Cass, logically, had appointed Rose to play in the boys place as he was announced unable to play, but none of the team were disappointed by this turn of events. Rose shared this worry with Dora in the next letter and told Hermione, Harry and Ron about it. Castiel also noticed this, and told her should she feel uncomfortable with any of these changes, she should tell him immediately.

But she would be the weak one, having snitched. And she was no Seeker. So, this was how Hermione was staring at her worriedly before the match, another worry on top of her worry for Harry, for not saying anything to her captain about her suspicions.  
Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her and Rose from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it, but she still seemed very tensed whenever something dangerous was brought up. The good news, however, was that she no longer had any looks to give to Rose after she had pulled her along the night of the fake duel, having earned her trust in telling them of her brother’s ploys. She kept insisting that Rose go to the Captain, before Rose exploded,  
“Hermione, if I go to the Slytherin Captain, I’ll be seen as the girl who cried wolf. And I’m not going to do anything without proof—how mediocre do you think I am?” She raised a brow, shivering.

It was the day before their first Quidditch match and the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, bickering while getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Rose noticed at once, thanks to her time in the hospital wing, that Snape was limping. It seemed something was wrong with his left leg, but he seemed fine in every other area of his body.

Almost harmonically, they huddled closer together, to hide the jar from sight, Rose moving closer to it and dropping her bag next to it so it could tower over it. But, as if using his skill of being the Head of the sneakiest house in Hogwarts to sniff out the guilt in knowing that they were doing something against the rules (she knew very well that the jar of blue fire was very much against the rules, Ariel made her memorize the rules after the Hufflepuff incident for further reference), he lingered, looking over to them before he limped over. He didn’t seem to think of anything of Rose’s bag randomly on the ground, but he seemed unsatisfied with not taking away points from her Gryffindor friends. He lingered, looking at the book Harry held in his dry, cold hands. "What's that you've got there, Potter?" It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him. "Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "I expect better of you—should the influence of Miss Malfoy serve you nothing? Five points from Gryffindor.”

Rose cocked her head to the side, frowning, “But sir, there’s no rule against bringing library books outside of school.” She regretted having spoken without a filter. Snape turned his cold, black eyes to stare into her own black eyes.

“You would do well to read the rule book, Miss Malfoy.”

“I have,” Rose said, scandalized at having been told to do something she had already done. The others were staring at her, and Ron was rolling his eyes as if saying, Of course you did. “What? I have. There’s no rule against bringing out the library books—as long as you return them within their deadline, you may do as you please.”

Snape assessed her for a moment, staring down at her, and she wondered if he was thinking of whether or not to howl in to her father. She stared nervously back. “Then I suggest you read it again. And watch your tongue, Miss Malfoy.”

"It’s not fair,” Ron complained when he was well out of earshot. “He only tells you off—you’re a princess when it comes to scolding’s!” He huffed, “Even when you correct him! Honestly!”

Rose shrugged, “I suppose—it could be several things on why. He knows my father.” And hated yours, Potter. She thought, but did not say. It could many things: He knew her father, she was top of the class and best at potions, and always sufficed her answers to him to the very fullest, earning many points for his house, or perhaps. She thought it was probably because she was Slytherin—but she was treated differently. Sometimes, she caught him staring at her in a mixture of cold suspicion and—perhaps nostalgia. She drew this to be as him remembering his times at Hogwarts while her mother was in school. They were awfully alike now—they look alike, they were both Slytherin, both Quidditch players, both top of class...she wasn’t so sure they’d been acquainted, but she knew Andromeda had gone to school with Snape. Having memorized the dates of her family’s important years for ‘basic knowledge’, as her father put it, she knew they aligned. Plus, they were in the same house. It would have been easy for them to know each other. Her mother did not speak much of him, though…she did not hear anyone but her father speak his name in the house, though her mother only acknowledged him as a professor and a boy she knew in her letter when Rose had asked. It only made sense. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly. The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. The four of them hid away in the farthest corner, to the window, hidden away from the rest of the House, per Rose’s request. She told them she never got to see the grounds from this far up in the towers, being as her house’s common room was in the dungeon, but she knew it was a blatant lie to cover up the fact that she could see both the portait hole and the boy’s dormitories’ doorway easily from where she sat, and could sneak away should she need to if she…needed to…

Hermione only ever checked over Harry and Ron’s homework—She would never let them copy ("How will you learn?")—but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway while Rose stared out the window, glancing back into the common room at every sudden creak. She was starting to feel very anxious, as if she was doing something she should not be doing. She needed to get out of there and back to her own dorm—it felt like she would not be safe away until she was tucked under blankets in her bed and re-reading one of Dora’s most exciting stories.

She got up when Harry did, “I’m going to go see if I can get my book back, I’ll be back.”

"Better you than me," they said together, and Rose linked arms with Harry as they walked out, moving slightly behind him as they passed some older Gryffindor students. Then she decided it would be strange that she would drop her hand from his arm and he did not reject it, as most boys she had done so to didn’t, so until they separated in the halls, it was silent with only the one contact of her hand.

Rose was a really weird girl—she was very traditional, that was the strange juxtaposition Harry finally put his finger on. The hair thing (always keeping it up), the sudden linking of her arm through Hermione’s and only her hand to Harry’s, the poise she carried…it didn’t fit with her anxious fidgeting, however. She could barely stop moving, he thought she had only left the Gryffindor common room to only move around.

She ventured away, waving her pale fingers as they separated. He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met his eyes. Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing*," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but -- "POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"  
In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him -- he's after whatever it's guarding! And Id bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"  
Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No -- he wouldn't, she said. “I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind -- he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours -- but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer full chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match, but when Rose greeted them, Harry jumped over her words and told her of his story of the events when she had gone to her common room. It took a minute but when he finished, she blinked.

"You've got to eat some breakfast." She pushed toast towards him, as if concerned that he had been hallucinating.

Harry waved his hands, exasperated, "I don't want anything, didn’t you hear what I just said!?"

"I heard, but,” Rose shifted uncomfortably, pushing a plate of toast further onto his side of the table. She wasn’t allowed to sit at their table—or was strongly suggested to not do so?—but she sat anyway, next to Hermione, across from him, at the Gryffindor table. Members of the Slytherin table peered over but none of her friends appeared to be too bothered by their youngest at the rivals table. Harry even noticed a tall Hufflepuff look over, but she didn’t seem to notice, with her back to the other tables. “Why would he risk it?”

Harry pushed the plate away, towards her. "I'm not hungry. Maybe he knows what’s in the package?”

“Doubt it,” Rose leant her head on her hand, her long pony tail falling over one shoulder. Her hair was so long, Harry was distracted by it for a moment. He didn’t expect to see it so long and so—so blonde. Was that why he was surprised? He wasn’t sure but her hair was so blonde, catching different lights and all.

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

“You’ll do great Harry, don’t doubt yourself.” Rose told him before they parted. He noticed she, along with the rest of her team, were already changed into their green themed uniform. Maybe it was because green was her house color but it suited her. “I should get going.”

“Good luck.” Harry called after her, followed by a, “You’ll be fantastic.” From Hermione.

Rose was coming up to the Great Hall doors, her head crouched down to the letter she’d received just minutes ago from Dora, taking in her words of encouragement for her game, when another voice called to her, “Hey, Rose!”

Startled, she turned. A flushed and newly messy-haired Cedric Diggory was jogging up to her from the Hufflepuff table, wearing a green scarf. She cautiously stopped her walk, eyeing the green scarf. “Not a fan of Gryffindor?”

They had not spoken since he’d caught her sneaking into his common room—there were very few moments of waving in the halls but she wasn’t very comfortable around anyone but her circle of friends. He, as much as she hated admitting it, was an older, stronger boy that she could not trust. “No, it’s a fair game, but they have most of the supporters of the school—just though I’d make it fair.” But there was a happier note to his smile. “I just came over to congratulate you on being a part of the better rumours—youngest to play for Slytherin, huh?”

She nodded, “You got me,” She laughed nervously as he took a step closer. There were people around, surely nothing bad would happen? It wasn’t like he could…what? Drag her out of the hall without being noticed, right? No—no, he wouldn’t. She would not be like the rest of her house, judging everyone was evil because of one thing. No—it wasn’t fair. She tried to smile as he said,

“Well, I just wanted to wish you good luck—I know, you don’t need it, but you’ll do great.”

Rose fought the growing anxiety of him being just two feet away from her and smiled, “Thank you, Cedric.”

Her heart was thunder by eleven o'clock. The whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.  
Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, that Rose had encouraged them to do, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors. Meanwhile, Ariel, Eddie and many of the other friends in their group had painted out a banner with mint green words, ‘Long May Rose Reign. There was no special charm to it but the enthusiasm in which it was held by was better than any charm.

Rose was easily the smallest on the team with larger boys, and being the only girl on the team. The crowd of Slytherin cheered for them, and Cass spun to them, “Just remember our plays.” He told them before having to shake hands with Oliver Wood. Marcus Flint, the old captain mocked him but Rose did not laugh, in respect to Cass.

The entire Slytherin team were seemingly innocent, which meant they were up to something. They had been very nice to Rose, which just put her more and more on edge. She did not believe for a second that they were trying to be good sports. When Madame Hooch, who was refereeing, stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand, said, "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her, she noticed a look passed between her own team, behind Castiel.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Rose hitched herself onto her broom. She glanced over to Harry and smiled. He didn’t seem to have noticed. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.  
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve and her last year as a chaser, too bad ain’t it she’s quite fast -- back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, the old Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying like an eagle up there -- he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's replacement Rose Malfoy speeding off toward the goal posts, very fast that girl! And—oh, served around the Gryffindor beaters and—score for Slytherin!” Rose flew higher, feeling an intense rush of satisfaction fill her. The Slytherins roared louder. “Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she's really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead -- come on, now, Angelina -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"  
Now it was Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.  
As Rose moved above, she sped along but something caught her broom—when she looked back, she saw Marcus Flint smirking as he flew away. Anger filled her—were they mad?! She took a turn and started diving. "Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Malfoy ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Rose spun once to catch a movement of gold glinting by in her peripheral vision. She watched it go, as the other chasers did, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry dive for it, as Slytherin’s seeker did as well. Rose was able to watch it as it sped, and neck and neck the seekers hurtled toward the Snitch. It seemed as if though Harry was much faster than Terence Higgs—she swayed once as a leg shot out and pushed her side roughly, just about pushing her off her broom. She swayed, one leg falling off its position of being crossed under her, and gasped.

She just about hit Fred, who was quick to steady her. “What the hell, Flint?!” George called up and Rose saw another smirk from Marcus Flint, but this time, she saw a look being passed around the other Slytherin Chaser. Why those little—Marcus Flint flew down suddenly and she watched him until he—hE BLOCKED HARRY VERY ILLEGALLY?! Before she knew it, she threw down a scream of, “Foul, you cheater!” Harry spun on his broom, holding on for dear life. “FOUL!!” She screeched. She vaguely saw Fred eyeing her in surprise.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. Angry, Rose turned and surveyed the field as she took off. Lee Jordan spoke without a hint of remorse of exactly what had happened, "So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—”

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—”

“Jordan, I'm warning you --"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession." Rose was just diving by Harry when his broom gave a sudden lurch onto hers and she just about flew off. Turning, she glared,

“Potter, what in the world—?!”

But it gave another lurch and he just about fell off himself. Watching in horror, Rose saw his hands and knees grip his broom tighter as it happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. For one moment, it stilled before zig zagin out of control, making violent movements that just about threw him off.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet -- passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- A no...

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely but Rose and she couldn’t scream down for a time out with the amount of noise drowning her voice out. Maybe she could signal someone...?

But as it flew him higher and she was afraid of venturing too far away from him should he actually fall—her heart leaped as it started to roll and suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped and Rose just about fell off her own broom. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand

Rose, seeing no one fly up to help, latched herself to her broom tightly, crossing her legs under it, and removed the heavy robe portion of their uniform that allowed them to make sharp turns and let it drop. The harsh air did not push back any more and she was able to stretch farther to him. Now, lighter and able to stretch, she leaned over one hand outstretched to his.

As if sensing her presence, the broom lurched away from her hand, and Harry nearly lost his grip. Gasping, Rose saw only one thing fit—she knew this trick from her mother, and was amazing at it but with the added persistence of an out of control broom probably would knock her off her feet if she tried but it was worth a shot. Twice, each Weasley twin tried to pull him onto their broom but to no avail. She cursed and gripped her broom tightly.

She flew up, higher than his own broom, which had gotten up pretty high, and she saw the Gryffindor team circling below, hoping to catch him. She bent one knee over the other and then the other, until she was crouching on the broom, both feet on the broom. The air was forceful and harsh but she maintained balanced as she hooked her foot under the broom and took a deep breath. Not daring to look down, she leant to the side and stretched her arms out and caught Harry’s arm as she felt gravity pull her down.

She, Rose, was now hanging from her foot off her broom, upside down, holding out her arm, which had grabbed Harry’s and pulled. The broom settled suddenly and she was able to pull him up, where he threw his leg over and positioned himself again. Cheers came from the crowd as Harry breathed a very broken thank you.

She’d practiced this part, so she twisted her foot so she was standing once more and bent her right knee under the broom. She was just positioning herself again, not three seconds later, when something rammed her side fully and she lost her grip on her broom and fell.

Nearly three seconds after she fell, had she registered the fall that she felt a soft thud and an arm wrap around her. Trembling, she was only able to see a swift movement of the ball speed away. George had caught her almost immediately, as he had been speeding under Harry. Almost on reflex, she moved away from him but he kept her situated against him, her side to his chest. He was warm, but her nerves were on edge. “Hold on...” He was shifting, moving back to have her not being held up on the broom, so she could sit on it as well. Both legs were on one side as he flew them down to the ground. “Flint knocked her right off her broom!” Were the first words out of his mouth before anyone could ask any questions.

Cass had flown down as well, “What’s this about?”

Rose explained what she’d done and then being knocked out of the air by the ball. She didn’t, however, tell him about the nasty foul play Marcus Flint had played on her or that he had been the one to knock the ball so hard over to her she had fallen, though she was sure he saw half of it. He was waiting for her to come to it, but when she didn’t, he shot her a look of disbelief. When the Gryffindors were allowed another free play, he stepped forward. “We can get him off the team—he cheated in front of everyone!” He told only her.  
“Not like this—” She told him, shaking her head, “I refused to be the reason he gets kicked off—he needs to be caught, not told on.” And with this, she turned to Harry, who had been speeding to the ground and he fell on all fours. Startled, she watched him cough up something golden.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Rose screamed in triumph, jumping at Harry to wrap her arms around his neck in congradulations while the rest of Gryffindor let out a roar of high spirits. She, the only of the Slytherin team who smiled in glee at the turn of events, was pulled into the mass. Because he had not broken any rules, they won a hundred and seventy points over the Slytherin’s sixty. Though Gryffindor won, many people were very focused on the stunt Rose had pulled on her broom—she saw nothing special with it but since most first years were supposed to be just learning how to fly, she could understand how marvelous it must have looked.

But in the case of being swiftly pulled off Harry, she caught sight of a girl in green amongst the reds. It wasn’t a Slytherin—no, it was red and green. A girl with red hair wearing a green dress smiled at her just a few feet away. She was standing in the midst of the crowd, and should have been swallowed by it but Rose could make her out perfectly. And she was staring right at her. For a moment, Rose took a swaying step as she too was being swallowed by the crowd and then it was all the reds of the Gryffindors, congratulating their house team, amongst the other houses rooting for them.

“It was Marcus Flint—he’s out to get me, because our captain, who beat him to get that title, favors me, just because I’ve been playing fair.” Rose told the others. “It was plenty suspicious when that chaser had fallen down the stairs—a waste of an injury. He tried to knock me off several times—that twit. He might have even put a hex on you broom, Harry. Though,” She said thoughtfully, “He is rather dim witter—I doubt he’d be able to.”

They were sitting in Hagrid’s hut, a very interesting little place just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She kept glancing out the window, to the forest, wondering what dangers lurked about. Hagrid, though scary and savage looking, was a very polite man in the turns. He congratulated Rose on her goals and flying and offered them all tea. He was very interesting, with a large dog he named Fang—he was becoming a better and better in her books, the more he talked about his dog.

Ron interjected, “It was Snape," Ron said, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

“That seems rather drastic, Hermione.” Rose agreed. “Sure, Snape doesn’t like—well,” She paused, thoughtful. “Well, he rather does have a disposition with Gryffindors but…” She didn’t finish her sentence. The word Gryffindor brought the girl in the green in her head again and she frowned—why was this so troubling?

“See? Even you, the Slytherin Princess, can’t say he wouldn’t.” Ron said and she bit her lip, ignoring his title.  
Harry, however, turned to Hagrid. "I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy?" They asked in unison.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the…”

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly. Rose, however, was focused on the suspiscious area of what he had just said. Some random Greek chappie had sold Hagrid a giant three headed dog? And now it was guarding something important enough to be protected? She was sure Dumbledore was mad off his rockers.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione. Rose remained unchanged of her conclusion of the whole debacle on her head house. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

“That’s also what’s needed for a counter-curse, ‘Mione.” Rose told her, “Did you see anyone else staring at Harry, mumbling? Or perhaps, did you knock into someone doing so?”

“Well…” She hesitated, her confidence falling.

“Exactly,” Rose said, “As much of a chance that Snape’s jinxed Harry’s brooms, there’s as much a chance he was using a counter curse. And besides—why would Snape want to, well, kill Harry?”

“Now, listen to me, all three of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel --"

"Who?” Rose dropped her entire argument on Snape, frowning. “Who’s Nicolas Flamel?”

“Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?" Hagrid looked furious with himself.


	9. Freddie the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has a snek

Madame Pomfrey was a nice woman, who was only every strict over her patients. Rose enjoyed volunteering to help her, because it included healing herbs, and she adored working with them. She wasn’t allowed near them but she learned a lot of them from the nurse. She was allowed to be her assistant and helped lots with patients, though not many. Mainly she took note. Madame Pomfrey promised Rose she would be able to perform more and more should she continue to volunteer as she got older.

She was very surprised to be called to Professor McGonagall’s office, to see Madame Pomfrey standing by the head of Gryffindor. A sudden anxiety welt in her stomach as she walked in and saw the scene. McGonagall gestured for her to take a seat. The door closing behind her was loud and reminded her of a jail cell closing—and the thought brought up the cold thought of how her extended family were in prison—of _all the times_ she could think of that—

“It shows great initiative to be involved in your interests so very early, Miss Malfoy, and it is very credible as well.” McGonagall said, but the flattery did not ease Rose’s anxiety. “And, as you know, Madame Pomfrey was the one to look after you when you fainted on the 31st of October, you remember, correct?” Rose nodded slowly. McGonagall looked to Madame Pomfrey.

Madame Pomfrey gazed down at her in a nervous but concerned gaze, as if not knowing how to let her know her dog had died. “Well, my dear, I noticed some—bruises—” The minute she said this word, Rose felt her heart fall.

It had been easy enough to distract herself from the images that popped into her head. She had schoolwork, Quidditch practice, common room plans and volunteering in the hospital wing. Along with thinking of Nymphadora, she had a working mind. But at times, she would wake up in a flurry of nightmares, and was rapidly losing sleep. This was brought to the nurse’s attention, apparently, “And your house mates have informed me that you are suffering from insomnia, that you are up very late and, waking up very early…Well, I couldn’t imagine what it is keeping you up—but with the evidence of bruises along your legs and shoulders, with the insomnia and what I assume to be nightmares?” She questioned, “And the distractions you have in class as Professor McGonagall has informed me of, well, I genuinely hope that I am wrong, but, I must ask.” She paused. “Did something happen, at all?”

Rose didn’t miss a beat. “What do you mean?”

McGonagall spoke this time, “Miss Malfoy, has something happened to you, to cause these symptoms? Do you know why you have bruises, or are losing sleep? Any idea at all?”

Rose stared at them for a long time, her heart thundering loudly in her throat. Her hands were becoming clamp from sweating and she had to restrain her leg from bouncing up and down. “No.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “Nothing? At all. Nothing comes to mind?”

Rose, feeling as if though her head was much heavier, shook her head. McGonagall sighed, “Has this been happening to you in the past?” Rose didn’t dare think of lying to Professor McGonagall, so she shook her head. “Is it perhaps stress? It is very common for first years, like yourself, to experience this and it’s understandable. You are away from home for the first time, you are learning magic at a school, there a lot of students and it can cause many problems, my dear, and there are ways to help the problems but only if you—”

“Professor, I’m truly fine.” Rose said blankly. McGonagall seemed rather disappointed, and the knot in her stomach tightened.

“Are you absolutely positive? I won’t be asking again.”

Rose nodded, “I’m sure, Professor.”

 

Her heart was still pounding as she stepped out onto the grounds, the words of assurance that should there be anything, she can come talk about it. In surprise, she looked up and saw snow falling from the sky. She reached her hand out and caught snow in her pale hand. She noticed a red swelling in her palm—and cuts with blood seeping. She recognized them as slits to fit her finger nails and she stared at them. She hadn’t even felt her hand clenching.

As she stared down at her hands, she felt the wind intensify around her but she felt frozen to her place, staring and listening to the wind howl around her, throwing her hair into a messy dance. No one was outside, for the sudden cold had rendered them all inside. The traces of the Gryffindor all celebrating their win were all gone and inside and warm when she was pulled out of the crowds by McGonagall, who asked for a word.

For a long moment, the howl was deafening, then it silenced at once as she heard footsteps behind her. Where her head was craned to stare down, she saw bare feet behind her, the toenails painted a lavender color. She continued to stare down at the feet, craning her neck to start to look up the pale legs, which had a faint rosy tint to them, against the snow. She had only look at the hems of the green dress the girl (?) was wearing until a hoot had broken her transfixion.

Turning sharply, an owl was flying down to her, and it dropped a letter in front of her, which she caught immediately. Turning back, she found that she was alone, and the wind was gently blowing now. She scanned the perimeter and only barely caught sight of the red silk when she started running to it. It was inside, disappearing around a corner when she caught it, “Hello?” The silky red hair disappeared behind a corner and when Rosemary turned the corner, she found a girl crouching down, as if picking something up.

“Hello?” Rose offered again.

The girl stood, turning as she did, and revealed she had picked up a Gryffindor banner that the audience could wave in their hand in support. Rose stared at it, and then up at the girl. She was fairly young, but the word _woman_ suited her better. She was well fitted in her green dress and her smile was beautiful—she had a right dimple and gorgeous, familiar green eyes that was vibrant against the red hair and with the compliment of the green dress. “Hello Rose,” She said warmly, as if this was not the strangest meeting ever.

“Um,” Rose shivered, “Aren’t you cold?” She gestured hesitantly at her dress, wondering how she could take this weather in such light clothing.

The woman shook her head, “Barely.”

Rose, nodding, trying not to admit how awkward this was and to kick her for greeting the woman, looked around. “So…are you a seventh year? I’ve never seen you around.”

“I was a seventh year, yes.” She nodded, but then her smile wavered, “You’re a first year, and so much has happened, hasn’t it?”

The words were so casual but yet had so many meanings to it that Rose swayed in her step backwards and made her forget the strange way she said _was a seventh year_ —maybe this truly wasn’t such a good idea. She should have never—“First years playing Quidditch—a first, in many centuries.”

“Oh! Oh…” Her nerves kindled at the mention of Quidditch and not the other…’thing that had happened’. “Right…so you watched?”

The woman nodded and her hair breezed behind her. “It was a very brave thing you did, for your friend. Very stupid, very reckless, but very brave, no doubt.” She was thoughtful.

“Oh—oh right, well I had a plan with it—it didn’t work out too well…” She laughed nervously, looking around. “Well I should—”

“Rose! There you are!” A familiar shout brought Rose out of her awkward state and she snapped around to see Hermione rushing to her. “Let’s go inside, it’s getting colder by the minute. What are you doing here, I said I would wait by the other entrance!”

“Sorry, I was just talking to,” She started but realized she didn’t know the woman’s name, so she turned to ask for it but found she and Hermione were alone. Her sentence wavered in the space between them.

“To who? Rose, are you alright?” Hermione asked worriedly, “I think its best we go inside. Come on,” Rose let Hermione drag her further inside the entrance, and up the stairs. It was silent while Hermione glanced at her every so often, only to be broken by how dangerous that stunt she pulled was, but she wasn’t listening. The girl _was_ a seventh year—and Hermione didn’t see her. She was a _ghost_!

When she returned to the Slytherin common room that evening, though, Draco was there waiting for her. With _her_ letters in _his_ hands. Oh no. “Who’s Nymphadora Tonks, exactly?” He asked her immediately. “And why have you been writing to her?”

“None of your business!” She sneered, grabbing for the letters but he was faster.

“She’s the blood traitor daughter of mother’s sister, isn’t she?” He sneered back. “What are you doing, writing to her? Don’t you realize that her father’s a mudblood? ”

“Stop calling people that!” She cried, grabbing at them but missing as he leapt over the sofa. “And its none of your business who I write to.”

“It is when I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble for what you do!” He snapped. “Stop writing to her or else I’ll tell mother and father.” He threatened and Rose’s fists clenched. They moved like snakes around the coffee table now, slowly and poised, calculating each other’s move, though they were rather familiar with each other’s next moves.

“You would not dare, Draco. I am your sister!” She yelled. “She’s our family, whether you like it or not.”

“Father will be the one who won’t like it.” He said and dashed as she jumped at him. “As a matter of fact, he’ll _hate_ it—don’t even try it, Rose!”

She ran after him until he reached the stairs to the boys’ dormitories and she couldn’t do anything but stormed away, her eyes filled with tears. She continued to run, until she got to the Gryffindor’s common room and just about screamed at the painting. The Fat Lady opened to both passwords and duels in singing, and she was good at that, as she was at arguing. She found the latter to work in that moment and rushed in, relishing in the warmth before scanning for Hermione.

The Gryffindors were still celebrating their win but Rose had no interest in staying for the party—she scanned carefully, glad to find a path to the girl’s stairs lacking the despicable boys that haunted her every nightmare’s shadow. They didn’t seem keen on hanging around their common room, thank Merlin, so it was usually safe territory. The one time she had been in the same room as them, she had sunk behind Hermione. In search of Hermione, she marched up the stairs.  

She was up in the girls’ dormitories, sitting on her bed with parchment on her lap, a quill in her hand. “Is it still going on down there? I can barely get to sleep so I’m going to write to Mum and Dad,” She explained. Hermione, like Rose was supposed to go home for holiday. She collapsed onto the bed next to her and started screaming into the pillow until another pillow hit her head, “What’s _wrong_?!”

Rose explained what her brother had done and Hermione was pitiful by the end of it, “Well, how bad of a reaction can your parents have? I mean it is your aunt.”

“Yes, Hermione, it’s the aunt I had no ideas about before this year but her title of blood traitor, because she married a muggleborn. Hermione—my parents would kill me for associating with anyone who isn’t in their liking and their liking is a very slim category!”

“If your parents found out we are friends—?”

“I would probably die.” This was an exaggeration, obviously, but it would be as bad as dying. “If Draco tells them, I’m done.” She said turning on her side and feeling something crumple against her side. Confused, she patted her side and her it again and realized that she still had an unopened letter from her cousin. “Wait,” She said as she yanked the letter out and tore it open, reading it over quickly,

_Mary,_

_As break is coming up next month, I was wondering, should you want to join me and my family for Christmas? Or even just a short visit, I’d want to meet you in person finally._

She had to read the short, first paragraph twice before continuing, reading the address and regards to how to find the house. “What is it?” Hermione asked, looking over her should to read it. A few seconds went by as she scanned the letter until Hermione gasped, “No way! Rose, if you ask your parents, you would surely never return to Hogwarts, you can’t risk that!”

For a moment, Rose was thinking about not asking her parents and simply saying she would stay in Hogwarts for the holiday. They trusted her and all she had to do is sign her name for those who stay and tell her dorm mates to cover for her, say that she’s sleeping in the entire way through Christmas. It would be efficient for them to cover for her, and they would do it, but Draco…

“Can you help me get those letters back from my brother?” She asked Hermione, looking at her now. Hermione crossed her arms.

“What are you thinking?”

Rose told her about her plan and Hermione sat in silent horror, “Rose, if they find out…the way you describe them, it will not be good for you. And if someone tries to go find you in the Slytherin house, believing you’ve stayed, what then? It’s two weeks, someone can mess up!”

“Not Slytherin,” She promised. “Just help me get the letters and you won’t be involved any further.”

Hermione was silent, staring at her in worry and hesitation before sighing, “What about Freddie?”

Her first thought was Fred Weasley. “What? Ask Fred to steal them back for me? Look, I know he may be sneaky but I know my brother’s tricks better and I’ll just be caught by his goon squad. And if I can’t steal them back, then no one can.”

“No! Rose, don’t you realize!? You already have a willing thief!” She said and pointed to her robes. For a long moment, she was confused before she realized what she meant. She gently reached into her pocket.

Frederick was a little corn snake she’d adopted illegally and smuggled into Hogwarts. Communicating with him was exceptionally easy, as she was a Parsletongue, as her father took great pride in. It apparently showed that she was a true Slytherin, as only Slytherin could be Parseltongue. The talent was exceptionally rare, even for Slytherins, but she was able to speak this language even before being able to speak her second, or third, or fourth, or fifth language. (French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and will end up learning Russian over the summer, as says her mother) Hermione—nor anyone—did not know this—she was surprised to find that the snake listened to her even as she spoke English but this was because she had accidently taught the snake Morse code, so it reacted with knocks and sounds. She often times lost him and he brought her lost—probably stolen—things. She tried to not encourage these behaviours but he was just so damn cute—one time, Ariel put a tiny top hat on him and she cried. (To have him behave and calm down, she put the top hat on and he calmed down and stilled immediately)

She kept him in her inner robes pocket and sometimes, he would slither up to her arm hole and slither down the sleeve to peek up at her by her quill. This was annoying, as this happened several times during one class. Now, as she thought about it, he would be the perfect candidate of stealing the letters.

“I may not be very keen on snakes for pets but,” Hermione said, an hour later, gently placing the top hat on Freddie. “I have never been more of a fan than right now.”

Corn snakes usually ate pinkie mice but she seemed to have found the pickiest eater in the entire wizarding world. He was a vegetarian around Rose. It took her about three days to realize this, when she dropped a strawberry and he _ate_ the strawberry. He, a snake, ate a strawberry. She hopes he eats more than that, as she’s let him wander the grounds at night and he’s come back with a full stomach (he doesn’t eat) so perhaps he has manners and only eats strawberries and keeps his animal eating to a minimal at night. She loves her snake.

As she wandered back to the dungeon, keeping a close ear to movement around her, she was telling her snake in Parsletongue of the plan. He was tranquil, but listening and she removed the top hat and let him slither into the shadows of the common room. He was also a great hider. She lost him once. Turns out he was in the shadows. She loves her snake.


	10. Winter is Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a Riverdale reference in there, comment if you catch it ;)

Christmas was coming and all of Hogwarts could not wait. A festive feeling fell over all of Hogwarts as students riled themselves up over leaving Hogwarts for the two weeks of break they were given. The lake had frozen solid, and skating classes and times were permitted, and by rule, one trainee of the hospital wing was needed to be present during those times, as to nurse those who had gotten hurt. As a sort of orientation, Madame Pomfrey was allowing Rose to be present, with a pack of first aid herbs and bandages and slings and such tied to her waist. She was very much looking forward to it, until she found out the Weasley twins were going to tag along.

So, early on the first Saturday morning of December, Rose was lacing up her white skates when George and Fred Weasley trotted up to her, with a bag of what seemed to be bewitched at a temperature. It was filled with water. She eyed it as they set it down and started lacing their skates, “Fine morning, ay?” Fred commented, pulling on his left skate—wait.

“You have two left skates.” She told him, and they handed one over to the other, George yawning.

“Yes, quite a morning,” George said, grinning up at her. “Don’t fathom there could be a better morning than this morning, wouldn’t you agree?” Rose narrowed her eyes at him. She was not very certain of what to expect out of boys like George and Fred but it was always something to be wary of. “So, Healer—”

“Volunteer,” Rose cut him off.

“How have you been finding those Defence Against the Darks Arts classes?” At the raise of her brow, he grinned wider, “Wouldn’t you say they are up for some…cooler upgrades?” When she didn’t answer, his brother showed her the bag filled with water and winked. She decided that that was where she would leave the conversation and she started to the ice.

Skating, in Rose’s opinion, was better in some ways than flying. Gliding across the ice, and pushing yourself forward and being able to gracefully make turns all on your own was something she adored—it took lots of effort and time to perfect most of spins and turns and she was in no definition perfect but when she spun and glided with her arms as her wings, it was magnificent.

She hadn’t realized she had been showing off until she heard a low whistle. Startled, she turned to find the boy from Hufflepuff—what was his name again…Cedric! Yes! It was Cedric Diggory leading the first years of his house to the lake, watching with awe, seeming impressed. She took a sharp turn and stop in front of him where he stood on the snow next to the stairs. “That was…quite something.” She smiled in gratification.

“Thank you,” She turned to the twins who were off near the other side of the permitted area of skating, with the bag of water. They seemed to be shoveling snow into the bag as well…she tried not to question this much and turn to the firsts years. Many were clumsily putting on their skates but most were ready to stand. The instructor too was just gliding onto the ice when someone slid with a nasty thud. Rose’s head snapped to the noise and found a fallen Cedric, his Hufflepuff scarf over his face.

She skated over to him and kneeled, “Does anything hurt?” She questioned, reaching for her bag. He scrambled at the sound of her voice, and started sliding in the effort of trying to get up and fell once more, this time on his nose. She cringed, grabbing both his hands and pushing him up, her hands as support. His mittens were wet compared to her white, warm gloves.

“Perhaps you could benefit from some lessons, huh?” She snickered as he slid once more, and she grasped his forearms to help him keep his balance. He smiled apologetically and she noticed how nice his smile was—so natural.

“Maybe,” He fumbled for a moment before being able to keep himself straight. She let go off him and just as did she caught sight of something that made her smile her best, most natural smile that was in no way a show—Harry, Hermione and Ron(Ugh) were just arriving against the bank. She just about raced to the bank, stoping at only an impressive turn, shedding ice onto them.

“You came!” She smiled at even Ron. Hermione was lacing up her skates when Harry responded,

“We said we would, wouldn’t we?” He smiled back and Rose felt her chest warm up—she wasn’t sure when a promise had ever been fulfilled last in her life.

“I didn’t,” Ron grumbled and the moment was over as he took a step onto the ice and slid into a perfect split formation. His brothers promised her he would never forget this glorious moment any time soon.

Hermione was rather good at ice skating but she did fall a few times—Ron was a complete failure at skating, Rose tried not to laugh when she gave him a miniature chair to use as he grumbled at her the entire time, but Harry was probably the worst.

Harry felt his face burning when Rose took both his hands and pulled him along, skating forward as she skated backwards. She seemed all too graceful walking properly and skating and it made Harry feel so bland next to her. There were other first years learning to skate, and many were much better than he was. It was mostly Hufflepuff first years but there some older kids and he found it very comforting that one of them kept falling too, even without the best skater helping. Though Harry at some point did fall and take both of them down.

But for the most part, it was a rather nice day. It would not start to snow, but the wind added quite enough to have her shivering into the morning, and kept her fully awake. She glided gracefully, feeling completely in control of herself on the ice, and confident—so close to her fear, water, yet safe.

She was racing against herself, taking a roundabout the group and had only just reached the farthest end, not too far, when suddenly, she noticed something—something standing out against the white and the ice…something red. When she crouched to allow herself a better look, she could only make out the red—red hands?

Before she could completely comprehend what she was seeing, quick as the snap of fingers, the ice opened and the water swallowed her whole, knocking the breath out of her lungs at the coolness is stung her with.

The water sent her into an immediate shock as she gasped into the water, and she couldn’t keep from choking. She began to feel her muscles coil and tense, paralyzing her in the water, unable to move. In her mind, however, she was panicking. She didn’t know how to swim—what sane person would ever willingly throw themselves into a large body of water?!

She felt herself floating however, but it got darker as the feeling intensified and she felt herself relax,  like a leaf falling to the ground—accepting its faith but what was that ringing? Above the increasing sound of her heartbeat was a long, nearly deafening wail that rang through her head, and it was somewhat familiar—and then she was gasping for air, coughing up water, shaking and painfully stinging.

Hermione ended up telling her later that she was underwater for six and a half minutes before the instructor could pull her out. She was completely limp—“I don’t know how to swim,” She told Hermione, who hugged the blanket to her shivering torso. She leant into her as Hermione moved her wet hair to the other side, her head now throbbing.

Hermione looked at her in shock, “Then someone ought to teach you, oh Rose! You nearly drowned! How could you not know how to swim!?” Rose said nothing but continued to shiver as goosebumps ran up and down her arms where Hermione was sliding her hands to vibrate some warmth. It wasn’t working—the faint scream that she had heard was still making her head ring and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the small crack in which she had fallen in through…there were several cracks around it, as if the ice had been thin but that—that was impossible…it was magicaly enchanted to be as thick as possible…it couldn’t be that something—someone?—had…had what?

This made her head spin even more and she tore her eyes away.

Madame Pomfrey ordered she stay in the hospital wing the rest of the day, making sure she had not caught hypothermia or she did not have any more water in her lungs. Hermione and Ariel were with her, though they held an awkward small talk with each other before deciding that one of them would leave. She was disappointed in this—they were so very similar, she’d hoped they get along. Hermione brushed out her hair for something to do after that and it felt warmer than she’d been ever—it was even warmer when she told her how nice her hair was down.

The Weasley twins also unexpectedly walked in and showed off their now bag of ice, with nicely sculpted snow balls. They promised that they were going to be put into good use, to make some classes more interesting.

She wondered if that had anything to do with how Professor Quirrell having snow on the back of his turban when she walked into Defence Against the Dark Arts. She decided that the snow would melt at some point during the lesson but it didn’t and she became so distracted by it that at the end of the lesson, she found herself lingering to tell him. “Professor, I’m not sure if you realize this but,” She reached up to knock the snow off and Quirrell winced away so harshly that he fell over his seat and landed on the floor, and her hand was—was like a fading black?

“MISS MALFOY HOW—” He started shouting before seeming to compose himself. In shock, her hand remained in the air, and she watched it fade gradually, “W-would you lik-ke some ex-xtra lessssons?”

The question lit a fire of anxiety almost immediately at this, “What? Why? Am I lacking, Professor? I-I’m sorry, I can definitely study harder—or am I studying incorrectly? Have I failed the first term? Oh please, tell me I haven’t!” She gasped.

As she stared at Professor Quirrell, suddenly someone walked around him to stare directly at her, crossing her left palm across her neck, as if telling her to stop it. The red haired girl—she had decided to call her Pam—was back again.

She had decided, when she thought about it, that Pam is a ghost girl that only Rose can see and is very keen on being mysterious and not showing up whenever she expected her. So, of course, she shows up when she least expects it—the most recent time is right now and she was telling her no to something she hadn’t even asked.

“N-no, my d-dear.” He choked on his words. “I find—I find that with s-some extra t-tutorings you w-would do exce-cellent.” It took a few seconds to understand what he was offering and then a couple more seconds to understand why Pam had gotten aggressive with her warning and was vigorously shaking her head.

“O-oh! Oh,” She glanced at Pam and then to Quirrell. “Um…” She glanced once more, not understanding why Pam was saying no…? “Sure?”

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, nooo!” Pam cried turning around and putting a hand to her head. “Rose, noooooo…..”

After bidding a very stuttering, but glowing (?) Quirrell good day, she ran after Pam, who was muttering ‘no’ over and over under her breath. “Um—hi?” She started, looking around, glad to see no one around.

“Listen, Rose, whatever it is you feel as if though you need to accomplish with taking these lessons, you can get from lessons from me. I’ll teach you DADA, just—just do not, under any circumstances, taken lessons from that—that…” She trailed off, grimacing every second and Rose couldn’t followed along.

“I don’t understand—are you—why?” Rose stammered, watching Pam freak out. “Why do you keep showing up at the most inconvenient of times?”

“Trust me, Rosemary, I do not chose my time of arrivals. If I did have any control over this, trust me, you’d be able to acknowledge it. It certainly would not be like this—scaring you, like I have, and keeping you wondering.” She seemed pained as she turned on her foot and marched down the hall. “Follow me, should you want to, though I highly recommend you do.”

So Rose had no other choice that she would consider, than to follow Pam as she marched down the corridor. And then, when she turned the corner, Rose was running to follow her. When she slid around the corner, Pam was gone. Rose groaned out loud and threw her hands out, “PAM!”

But then, a name rang through her mind and she swayed on the spot. Her mind was focusing on the name and she felt it leave her lips though she didn’t hear it, “Lily.”

                                   ____________________________________________

The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. She was not able to reply to Dora, not until she was able to get her letters back from Draco. She had seen several times, that her snake had watched Draco carefully, and followed him to see where his robes were put (she assumed) but Freddie did not turn up with any letters. But only one letter was sent to her, and Rose felt her heart break as she thought perhaps Dora thought she no longer wanted to write.

It started getting much colder, especially in the Slytherin common room. The common room was the one common room with the most amount of blankets and these were passed around. Everyone had a blanket or two extra on their beds, there were blankets on the couches and people treading along, wearing blankets as capes. Most of the common room now dressed in sweaters and long sleeves and their robes more often. Woolly socks and scarves were sometimes worn inside as well, and the indoor fountain had just frozen solid. Ariel had broken the top layer of ice to see water running just underneath, though, and she threw a fish down there. Everyone is still asking why she had a fish in the first place, but no one actually gets a good enough answer. (They had an indoor fountain, that some say lead all the way down a tunnel of water that opens up to the lake. Ariel often throws fish food down there, because there are fishes. Freddie was nearly dropped in once. Rose will never forgive herself for that.) Rose took to joining her friends in their common room, because the Gryffindor common room (and the Great Hall) had roaring fires. The drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons. It was only around this time that her friends finally understood exactly what Rose went through in their cold common room.

Draco, too, was becoming colder and more, and more bitter as the weather did too.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home." He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, (and that his sister helped them along) he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick so long. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. Rose, and Hermione for that fact, would not be staying.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it. "Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them. He often taunted them when Rose was well out of hearing distance. Harry liked to think that he was afraid of saying anything in front of her. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Rose, followed by Snape, came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family." Harry saw Rose throw Draco a look. He threw one back. It always threw him off, that they were related, much less twins. They were so different—of course, both with pale skin and hair, and blue eyes, though Rose’s were a much darker hue, something of a black blue sky. It only glinted blue in the right light. Sometimes he caught her eyes being lighter, but very, very rarely. Other than that, and their house, they seemed to be such opposites. Why, oh why, was _she_ related to _him_?

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking. Rose, sighing after them, took her wand out and performed a simple spell to clean the mess up.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him --"

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

“If you don’t give in as much, they wouldn’t bother you.” Rose told them. “And please, no insults to my brother.”

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid before Ron could explode on her. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat." Rose linked her arm through Harry’s left arm like she did with Hermione’s, and linked her other around Hermione’s right and the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

 "How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me, Rose—Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Yes, let’s head down now,” Rose said, tearing her eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree. She seemed to shiver.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," Hermione said.

“No harm in knowing a little more about the wizards that came before us.” Rose asked, dimpling.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library. They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section, followed by Rose, who examined every book they passed. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He looked over to Rose, who disappeared behind a shadow of a book case. He tried not to look guilty as he walked by the librarian. They had worked out a plan—he would distract while she snuck into the section, looking for anything that may help.

Harry left the library. They had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to. No matter how much advantages being friends with a Slytherin brought in by him, he still did not like them, barely had he tolerated them.

 

Rose was lurking, as one does, when she bumped into Cedric goddamn Diggory. It was beginning to be comical, how alone she felt when suddenly she felt being watched and then out pops Diggory.

He was holding a list in his hand and walked right into her. Jumping, she took three steps back and immediately brought her hand to her robe pocket, to where her wand was. “Rose!” He cried, startled. A smile pulled on his lips. “Hi!”

“Heyyyyy, Cedriiiiic.” She laughed nervously, looking around.

“What—what are you doing in the Restricted section?” He asked, his smile turning confused. She looked to the book shelf just as a book seemed to fall out. Without thinking she picked it up and showcased it.

“Just looking for—” She looked at the cover, and cringed, “A Book of Banshee Encounters.” Why, of all books, had this one fallen out? Hang out…why had any book fallen out? She looked at the shelf and sad the swing of red hair fly by and her eyes widened. Lily—she was sure this was her name—was back. Before she could get a chance to run after her, Cedric continued.

“Oh,” He looked at the book, “What for?”

Rose paused, impatient, “Background studying.”

“Al..alright.” Cedric nodded, “Well, I haven’t gotten a chance to congratulate you on those goals at the game. Too bad you didn’t win,” He said, his voice filled with sympathy.  

“Oh, right.” She nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah, well they were fine. I’m just glad no one got seriously hurt.”

“Yeah, about that,” He said, taking a step closer, and she took a step back. “How come Flint hasn’t been kicked off the team yet? Didn’t he try to throw you off, like, twice in the time span of three minutes?”

Rose shrugged, “I figured it was better to have him be caught cheating rather than telling him—it would seem weak, telling on my own teammate.”

“You could have died.”

“Yes, well,” She laughed again, nervously. She glanced around once more.

“So…will you be leaving for the holidays?” He asked, probably feeling the awkward air around them and she wanted to curse him for trying to be nice and keep the conversation going.

She nodded, irritated at yet another reminder of how annoying it was for her not to go to her cousin’s…it felt weird saying that. Cousins. She had a cousin. And because of her twin brother, she wouldn’t be allowed to go see her! UGH!

Suddenly, he backed away, looking down at the floor.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s a snake on your ankle.” She looked down at her feet and found Freddie wrapping around her ankle, several letters in his tiny mouth. She gasped, crouching and taking the letters and Freddie wrapped himself around her wrist as she picked him up.

“Freddie! You did it!” She said, smiling widely. She turned to Cedric, who was watching in horror and confusion. “Sorry, I have to go. Catch you later!” She smiled, turning to sneak out after where she thought Lily had wandered off to.

“Lily?” She whispered out when she was far enough into the book shelves. “Lily!?” She turned and passed shelves and turned corners but only found herself back out of the restricted section. She pouted in the general area of the Restricted Section, wishing any of this could make sense.

Harry was waiting outside in the corridor with Hermione and Ron, but neither of them found anything when Rose came out. They had been looking for two weeks but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Rose waved the letters to Hermione and she smiled. She didn’t fill Harry or Ron in about this action and they went off to lunch. While she most usually parted with them because of their house differences, she walked with them to the Gryffindor table, lost in her concentration in scanning the room for her brother. “Huh.”

“What?” Harry questioned, seeing the look of confusion on her face and following her gaze.

“I’m just…”

“Maybe loosen your pony tail—you’ve probably lost all your brain cells by now,” Ron muttered and Rose scoffed at him, though her eyes went up the Slytherin table once more. She still did not see her brother.

“I’ll see you lot later,” She said, and made sure to turn and bend, so that her pony tail wacked Ronald in the eye. Smiling at his shout after her, she felt the familiar swing of her pony tail flying behind her. She did not recall when her hair bagn growing so long, but now, even in a pony tail, it was half way down her back. She would need to cut it—she liked the way Ariel’s was cut. Layered, and bouncy with so much volume. She wished her hair could be like that—not just a sheet of paper behind her, though she heard on more than one occasion of Ariel complaining on her ‘baby hairs’. Her own baby hairs were pinned back—but she wished she could have Ariel’s curlier hair, have the freedom to put her hair down—she froze down the hall, feeling a cold shiver run up her back and her heart hammer once harshly.

Laughter floated down towards her in the corridor and no! This couldn’t be happening—this could not be happening. The laughter filled her head, making it heavy and light at the same time. She couldn’t move, she felt paralyzed to the spot. Why? Why did she leave when she did? Why did she separate from her friends? Why, Merlin why did she feel her hair gave her away when one of them caught her eye?

“Mate, check this one out!” He nodded to her and she was frozen in cold horror as they all looked at her. Faster than she could take a breath, they started towards her, “Nice hair, snake.”

And they pushed passed her, pulling on her hair— _yanking_ on her hair, so hard that it tipped her and she fell backwards, her skirt falling up her knees and for a moment, a sharp flash knocked the breath out of her of someone over her, holding her shoulders down and laying between her legs as if—and then pain, oh dear sake of Merlin’s beard, the pain was crippling, it tore at her and it shattered her insides, and she felt it again and again, tearing more and more and then she was only in a corridor, in Hogwarts, the day before Christmas and she wanted her mother’s arms around her, though her mother hadn’t properly hugged her since she was ten.


	11. Siblings and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a filler, but important, I guess????

 

"You will keep looking while we’re away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione, sharing a look of rolling eyes with Rose. Rose half-heartedly smiled back,

“You too, Rose. Your parents are sociopaths but they might know something.” After Rose slammed a book across Ron’s head and got a congratulations from George and Fred, the girls took off on their own. Ron was rubbing his head, muttering after her while Harry tried not to laugh. “Oh, shut it Harry.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Harry coughed.

Hermione waited for Rose in the Great Hall, so they could leave together for the train. Her trunk floated behind her, and she was dressed with her jacket, scarf and gloves. She and Hermione had a compartment to themselves, and talked of their excitement of their holidays, though Rose was a little disappointed at not going to Dora’s. She had sent an owl and was sure she had made a mistake, but now it was too late. She just wanted to go home.

Hermione told her about her parents while they looked through the Banshee Book, and read through interesting facts. At one point they reached a page of completely blank, with just weird scratches, as if it was written hastily. They looked rather old—one read, “Ask The Stars.” Weird.

“Stealing the book was a dangerous thing, but it is rather interesting,” Hermione said when she put it back in her trunk. Yes, it was, but it was an accident. It was hidden between clothes as a hiding place until she could find a time to sneak back into the library and put it back.

“Isn’t it?” She replied, purposely sneaking around the bit about the danger. She slammed her trunk back in place, and checked her watch. “I want to go find Draco,”

“Rose?” Hermione asked as she made to get up. Rose glanced back. “Why is it that your brother is so—so undeniably cruel?”

Rose’s face crunched up, “Draco is _not_ cruel, Hermione.” Hermione flinched,

“Alright. Why he is mean? And why do you take it?”

How was Rose supposed to explain to Hermione that Draco would always be her best partner in crime, in that he took the blame for half the tricks they pulled off while their father was away? How was she supposed to tell her about Draco only ever asking her for help, despite having pride? How in the world was she supposed to let her know in one sentence that she only went ice skating more than she wanted to just because Draco loved to do but knew there was no way they would go if he was the one who asked for it and how was she to explain the smile that lit his face up when she asked in his place? How was she supposed to explain that Draco made sure to have hyphened birthdays, just because they were born a month in between (the rarest of occasions, the Healer had said when they were born) and no one wanted to come to her birthday party?

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” She said and she felt her anger seep through her face, and she felt her jaw set in a familiar, poker motion, where her brows sharpened and her mouth set and she raised her chin a little higher. She slipped out of the compartment and felt her anger seep with every step down the train.

She found her brother alone in a compartment, staring out the window at the fresh snow powdering down from the sky like sugar. He looked up when she slid in and looked away with scold, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your muggleborn best mate? What are you two doing there? Painting each other’s nails?” He asked bitterly. But no matter how much bitter or anger pressed in his voice could ever hide the pain in his voice, not ever from her.

“Draco?” She asked in a small voice, sitting across from him. “Why…why don’t you like my friends?”

“So they’re your friends now?” He asked, turning to look at her. They held each other’s stares for a long time before he asked, “Why don’t you?”

“What?” She frowned.

“Why don’t you not like them?” He asked, sitting up straighter, “The blood traitor, the muggle-born and the most insufferable show off.”

Rose felt her heart sink, “Draco, just because father believes in things…it…i don’t think you should believe in them too. I mean, Hermione is…” The sting of the small dispute with her friend was still fresh but she believed her to still be good, no matter what. The Sorting Hat was right. Her loyalty was fatal. “smartest witch of all our grade—with me, of course.” Draco nearly cracked a smile. “Just because she’s a muggleborn, it doesn’t change the fact. It just makes her more amazing—she came from a completely different world, not knowing a thing about magic, and came into Hogwarts knowing just as much as we do. Maybe more,” Draco rolled his eyes at this. “And yeah, Ron is pretty annoying, no fault in that, but he’s funny…sometimes. And Harry is just…I don’t know.”

“Please tell me you don’t fancy Potter.” He groaned at her expression.

“No!” She was blushing furiously. “Me? And Potter? Please, don’t make me laugh. We would have to be in an apocalypse to even consider him—no, Draco. Just no.” She crossed her arms and he smiled this time, making her smile too. “I’m just trying to say, they really are not that bad. Besides, I don’t say anything about your friends.”

“Because we both know their idiots.” They laughed and Draco paused, “But they are quite funny.”

“While always being quite stupid, Draco, come on!” Rose giggled and he laughed with her and it was nice, to feel a weight lift and know that her brother was still on good terms with her. “While we’re on the subject of friends fancying each other—which I do _not_ —where’s Pansy Parkinson?” She wondered why he was alone in a compartment.

“She gives me a headache—I sent her on a wild goose hunt. She’s currently looking for a Michelangelo DeBuise.” He told her.

Rose gave him a disapproving look, knowing well enough that Michelangelo was a distant, French cousin currently attending Beauxbatons school, in France. “Draco.”

“Je m’en fiche,” He shrugged and they laughed, and for a long silent moment, it was nice to just laugh with Draco, not having to fight with him. Hogwarts brought a lot of tension on her back, and she couldn’t wait to go home and find something familiar and warm inside her bedroom, in her bed, in her mother’s arms. She missed home—she missed Draco.

“Why is it that she wrote you and not me?” He asked suddenly. Rose was so startled that her mouth fell open, because for the first time, she didn’t know what to say to her brother, when for the first time, his voice sounded the most pained it had ever been. He looked away and out the window again. Silence filled the room uncomfortably and Rose felt a sense of guilt fill her—she had never thought of _that_. Why hadn’t she written to Draco? What was so special about her? They were one and the same, she and Draco, save for just a few differences—why did Dora favor her?

Hermione was quiet when Rose came back for her trunk. She was staring out the window and jumped when the compartment door slid open. Rose said nothing as well, and slid her trunk out, pausing once before deciding it was best to give her her gift now. So she opened her trunk and slid the wrapped, thin packaging out of her trunk and slid it on the seat next to Hermione. She hadn’t been quite sure what to get her—Ron, Harry and Draco were much too easy. She had gotten all her friends something, most of the group she hung around with from Slytherin (And the siblings in Ravenclaw and Huffleuff, of course), but Hermione she found to be trickier. What could a Muggleborn possibly want that could be useful in the wizarding world?

A reminder that she was a witch, a part of both the muggle world and the wizarding world. She belonged to bother equally, and always would—a thin necklace chain with the Gryffindor lion, to wear around her neck should she wear it, to know her bravery dwelt at heart. But it seemed stupid, so she didn’t say anything. A quick Merry Christmas was exchanged and Rose left to find her brother.

 

Home was strangely colder. Malfoy Manor was always the warmest place Rose knew, probably because she had spent all her life there, but now, she was finding herself wanting to be in the Gryffindor common room, of all places, with Harry and Ron’s brothers. She wondered what they had been up to while Hermione and she had left—probably something reckless, but all the same, she missed the warmth the common room admitted.

Their welcome home was a silent affair, and they were right in time for lunch. Dobby, the house elf, was gracious to have Rose back especially around this time, as Rose always sang songs of Christmas. She was happy to sing when no one was around and he could enjoy it, as this was his only Christmas treat, she always asked which songs he would prefer. He was always kindly gracious of her and she wanted so badly to do more but knew her father would never approve.

So, she sang sweetly and light, old songs that told of Christmas and twisted her hair in braids, thinking of what to say to Draco, who was in his own bedroom. Snow fell outside her window, and she felt so much better seeing the sky rather than the underwater crevasses of a lake, though the mermaids were rather fascinating as they swam past, but it made her so…so tired. No—not tired. Different, but sort of like being tired. Like she was—uninterested? Was that it?

She had two weeks off from school, two weeks to be home, and she found it completely uninteresting?

She couldn’t find a space where she was comfortable—she was always moving. She tried to open one of her books, prized by languages, but her mind was moving in all different directions, in the completely wrong language. Her mind was reeling back to Nymphadora—she could not receive any owls here, not when her parents were watching over her. Her mother, regularly looking up from her own letter to stare at her fondly, was in the room with her, in the parlor for the afternoon.

But then, she couldn’t stop herself from moving. Her eyes scanned the pages, her fingers playing with the edges and her foot tapping. She couldn’t focus—and it was becoming frustrating, so frustrating that—“What is it that troubles you, flower?” Her mother asked and she looked up, startled. “Galleon for your pretty thoughts, hmm?”

Rose put the book down and decided she couldn’t keep the name off her tongue, “Mother, what was your family like?”

It was a dangerous question, as because Rose knew of their dark affiliations with the first Wizarding war. Beyond that, and before, she knew of their highly respected name, Black. _Toujours pur_ , always pure. She had her entire family tree memorized, of course she would know their old motto. Her mother was the eldest child of three daughters, the youngest being Andromeda, and the middle being Bellatrix Black—now Lestrange. One was a Death Eater in Azkaban, the wizarding prison guarded by horror story Dementors, one was her mysterious aunt, and the other sat before her, staring at her in surprise.

“My, Rose, why the sudden curiosity?” Her mother stood, graceful as was her figure to move across the room to sit by Rose. Her tone was rather serious but cautious, “Has someone said something at school?”

“Well—no,” Rose pondered a moment how to phrase the question she wanted the answer to. “Well, mother, I just—I’m wondering about…about your sisters, mostly. Aunt Bella and Aunt—what was her name?”

“We don’t speak her name in this house, Rosemary.” Her mother said coldly, but her fingers moved to tuck strands of their shared blonde hair behind her ear. “Never.”

“Yes, mother.” She paused. “Because she married a muggleborn.” She tried, watching her mother’s face carefully, enough to see the right brow harden with her jaw, though she spoke still calmly,

“That’s right.”

“And…and why was that so…bad?” She knew she did it—she knew very well in the lines of her mother’s face she had spoken her words wrong and now she would face the consequences.

“Because, she was a pureblood, disgracing her family—my family, with that—that _mudblood_. It’s disgusting—it’s wrong, Rosemary. You too, will understand soon. Once you marry a pureblood, you’ll understand the need to marry your own children to pureblood families.” She said and she felt, for one moment, her heart swell in pain at these words. She knew that her life would never depend on her own decisions, but hearing the plan—of _marriage_ —was disheartening.

Yes of course, she expected this. How could she not? She was the pureblooded daughter—the only female heir to both the Malfoy and Black line, the latter just near extinct of boys. Imprisonment surely did not count, especially when the cousin she did not know the name of was in for life. Something to do with being Voldemort’s second in command. Huh. Pity. Not really—but pity.

But why did this keep her up—why was this so concerning? She knew this would happen eventually—she could never consider marrying someone of any status other than pureblood, much less someone of her own choice. She could waste her time in being foolish and getting her hopes up—no, she was a Malfoy heir, of the most respected pure-blooded family, and she had a position in keeping her family in that ranking title.

…but then again, she was probably friends with a Weasley, or two—or three! This did not dwell well with her responsibility with upholding the Malfoy name. Perhaps her brother was very much right. She should never had considered going to Nymphadora’s—no, no her cousin, for all purpose and intents. She was only her cousin, the daughter of a blood traitor and a mud—a mud…

Rose groaned into her pillow—everything was wrong! She had a cousin she couldn’t meet, a responsibility to withhold the family name through marriage and title and worst of all—marriage! She had never thought of marriage but in a passing thought that her mother taught her by— _your husband will be the richest and most noble, should you finish your dinner._ And now! All of a sudden (not really)! Her parents were probably _planning her wedding_! She groaned louder in frustration into her pillows and rolled around to stare up at her ceiling.

Roses were painted along the ceiling, in a delicate most breathtaking fashion, in honor of her name. Draco, too, had the same honoring but with his—she gasped.

Throwing the bedsheets over her legs and rushing to her closet and wardrobe, where she had shoved her trunk hastily in, she now pulled it out and opened it up, blindly, but strangely clearly, touched for the heavy, hard covered book. She slid it out and flipped pages, her wand now in her hand having been stolen quickly off her wardrobe and she cast a long, “Lumos!”

The page was blank still, no words appearing for just a moment. And then, appearing slowly and faintly, etches and scratches forming words messily formed on the page. Some seemed older, their scratches fading, but the newest, she was sure, was well by the edge, a perfect handwriting, the only one that didn’t seem written on with nails. “Ask the stars.” It wrote.

The constellations were not just some random passing and cryptic note—it meant something to her. To her, specifically. Her family had tradition of naming children after constellations—her name was one of the few exceptions. Draco, a star constellation, her great uncle, Orion, a star constellation, and of course, Andromeda, a whole galaxy named after a Greek princess. It was evidently clear—Lily had been in that library when she had taken the book—no! Not taken! Found! Lily must have pushed it out, intending on her to discover it and had etched her own message into it...to ask the stars—ask Andromeda!

But how….why this book? She eyed it skeptically, her sudden realization put aside. Why this book, in particular?

 

The morning brought no new thoughts. Christmas Eve was in the air and Rose had no thought regarding her discovery of the night before. Her mother had given her a list of instructions of what she needed to do before the ball tonight—a yearly ball she needed to practice a polite smile for—and she did not feel like getting out of bed.

She was so tired this morning, as was expected since she barely got any sleep after her little (?) discovery. She was up all night, once more wondering whether or not she should have gone to the Tonks. It was a pretty strong counterargument though—what would happen if her parents found out? Something bad? Absolutely. She didn’t even want to think of what would happen—especially since her mother seemed so—so angry. Anger meant hurt, she knew this well enough. Her brother was always angry at her for not picking his side, he was always hurt. She wished—wished she could change that. She wished she didn’t have a raging war she was stuck in between—her brother and her friends. Her aunt and her mom.

Her dad and the goddamn word that started with the letter ‘m’. Her hands were shaking when she brushed away tears from her cheeks. _When I grow up,_ she thought, _I won’t ever fight a war._ Wars are useless and barbaric, why do people fight them anyway? So many people died, in the first wizarding war. Perhaps this is what she envied of Muggles—her father told her they were much too stupid to even understand unbalance. She didn’t understand this but she trusted her parents—muggles are lucky they didn’t suffer from war.  

But she wasn’t a muggle and she so many questions that could only be answered by one person, which also happened to be the one person that could trigger a seeming war in her mother. What was it that an ancient philosopher said? Our fate rests in the stars? Ironic, if she said so herself.

She is a pureblood witch, and she had to get dressed.


	12. The Vidals

“And my daughter, as you may have heard, is of the most brilliant witch of her age.” Rose had gotten used to the bragging her mother did on her behalf, but having told anyone with a title was enough to get on her nerves. Boasting to the Minister of Magic was truly a breaking point, but Rose’s bashful smile was maintaining an audience. “And my Draco is the cleverest wizard—both top of their classes.”

This was a blatant lie, which she pointed out to her mother minutes later, after being congratulated by the minister. “Mother, I am tied with Hermione Granger in all our classes. I don’t think boasting—”

“Hush, now, dear Rose. A mudblood does not count.” A cold shiver ran through her spine, just like the first time her mother had used the word the previous day. She was beginning to truly feel nauseated by the word used so frequently in her presence—or anywhere. She listened to her father rant on bloodtraitors, on mudbloods and of squibs. She was beginning to seriously regret her decision coming home, even if she would not see Andromeda or Nymphadora. “Ah, see over there, flower?” Her mother’s gaze was fixated across the room.

The room, being, was decorated for the Christmas season. The room was filled with mostly pure-blooded families, all of which were dressed up like shiny galleons. She, too, was bidding her time in a silk, silver dress, the hung to her calves. Tight just at the waist and flaring out, though not too tight. It bothered her to have the bodice start at her shoulder, and to have the cold necklace of Salazar Slytherin around her neck dominant her picture, but any complaints were shut down by her mother as she pulled her hair up. “You look like a proper young lady.” She would tell her every complaint of the way.

“Can’t I just wear my hair down?” She pleaded at some point but was silenced by a shocked look from her mother.

“No, no you may not. I do not need my daughter looking like an uncivilized savage half-blood witch. You are a pureblood, Rosemary, and a Malfoy.” She had said, making Rose feel a guilt ball growl at her.

 She followed her mother’s gaze and found what seemed to be a family, probably, talking to her father. Her father was talking in a polite manner, so obviously these were no strangers, and he looked back in gesture to his two girls, and gesturing them over. Rose sent her mother a questioning look at they made their way over. “And this is my daughter, my youngest, Rosemary. Rosemary, these are the Vidals. Sir Vidal is your father’s acquaintance from France, dear.”

She shook his hand, taking in his slightly withered look. He fit perfectly into the three others that stood with him, all with dark but light skin, his beard perfectly trimmed and dark against his jaw. His only son took after his jaw, though only slightly, when they stood together. His son was rather tall as well, as was his daughter. Both were angled, the girl’s hair was short, bring out the sharper edges of her cheekbones. She caught Rose’s eye with a scornful look, taking in Rose’s much lighter theme. Rose felt a sudden ball of self-consciousness unravel in her stomach as she took in her sharp appearance—dark red dress, golden flecked eyes that looked Rose down and up, and then, her faint darker lips smirking at her. Rose fidgeted nervously, looking away to her taller brother—he looked like her, though he had lighter eyes and a rounded jawline, though still sharp.

He had dimples as he smiled down at her and she could only smile back. His mother laid a hand on his shoulder and she saw the most similarity between the family—between mother and son, they looked most alike, though she seemed much more feminine with rounder cheeks, but the same sweet smile was painted on their faces.

“A pleasure, Rosemary.” His mother said with a thick accent, though she pronounce her words carefully and correctly. “I believe my daughter is of your age, aren’t you, Camila?”

Rose was obligated to look at Camila again, “You are a first year, no?” The girl had a slightly different accent—definitely not an English accent, nor French, but something that sounded like a French accent and something else foreign and rich to listen to. “I attend Beauxbatons, I ‘ere you to attend ‘ogwarts, no?”

Rose nodded, “Yes.” She nodded, not knowing what to say now. She had never been speechless to her father’s acquaintances but the way she scrutinized her made her feel nervous—why was she staring at her like that? Could she _not_? She sent her mother a pleading look.

Unfortunately, her mother was politely listening to Rose’s father and Mr. and Mrs. Vidal. She was left to wonder where she could look that wasn’t offensive—apperently, the floor was offensive to Camila Vidal. “Do they no have any mannor lessons at ‘ogwarts?”

She looked up, startled, “Pardon?” She realized what she had just said and turned red. “No, they don’t.”

“That’s unfortunate,” She said in a mocking tone. Alright, now that was rude. That was rude, right? That sounded rude. “‘ogwarts students seem to very much need zem.” Okay, alright that was rude. Rose stared at her in shock, her face burning and a sudden thump of her heart rolled in her ears and she felt the pulse of her blood moving through her veins. She felt her fists tighten by only the sharp nails digging into her palms.

“Well,” She said through a forced smile, of its only purpose to keep her from glaring. _Alright, Rose, do not lose your temper. It’s one girl, no matter._ _Do not lose your temper, Rose, do not—_ “I find the studies offered at Hogwarts quite nourishing for those of us who are fatuous—of course, I would not know as I am more interested in the studies in the next year. Perhaps Hogwarts could be a school you benefit from.” _Alright, that’s not keeping your temper, Rose._

“And of what type of study do you relish in?” Camila asked innocently, “History?”

 _That_ —ohohohoh, _that_ was an insult. An insult—and insult to Rose’s intelligence, which _obviously_ far out-ranked hers, an insult to her magical abilities, and—gosh, and an insult to _McGonagall_ herself! Who was this annoying girl and what right did she think she had to parade about Rose as if she was moreso intelligent?

“Do you they teach you to be vacuous in Beauxbatons, or is that something you taught yourself?” Rose asked through gritted teeth. Camila barely looked bothered, which bothered Rose.

“No, zey teech us zee arts, and religions and les musiques of zee muggles.” She said smiling, “You no, like ze pheelosophee and mytologee of zee different religions.” It bothered Rose that she knew not what religion was—was that a sort of territory? It sounded like it. Nonetheless, she kept her smile plastered on her face.

“Muggles are barbarians, why do you waste your time studying them?” She asked politely but with a rather smart edge to her voice. She hated being seen as stupid.

Camila crossed her arms, “Zey’ve gone rader farder zan any pureblood witches, I tink.” She smirked. “Wit technologies and science and astrology. They evolve—something many ‘ave difficulties wit.” She eyed her smugly and Rose felt a newer, nastier rush of anger flood her mind.

“Excuse me,” Rose said and was to turn around but was stopped by a hand grabbing her elbow and then she felt her body sway, the sound of running water making the room grow faint and quiet to her, almost as if she were tuning into a very bad concentration memory. The pain was sudden but harsh between her legs and she nearly stumbled but she yanked her arm so roughly, that she couldn’t help walking away immediately, freeing her hair from its bun _because it felt as if though someone was pulling roughly on her hair._

She found her way out into the halls, where the couples were mostly wandering, and women with their friends and just one lone man sitting against the window sill of a grand window, gazing out to the fresh falling snow. The halls were quite luxurious, with fine paintings and stone and alabaster settings. She found it hardly comforting when her stilted shoes made that noise. Any other days, she loved the noise. Now, it was distracting.

Something was very off—she felt very off. It was as if she was not herself this night. As if the looming Christmas was changing her spirits rather than exciting her. She felt….uneven. That made no sense yet it felt as if though she were unbalanced, as if uncomplete…perhaps waiting for something. It didn’t feel good—it made her anxious.

And, as if being pulled, she started walking down the corridor, away from the people who paid her no attention. She felt her body grow lighter, almost as if she were dancing—she would have loved to set out in a ballet set, just to show that stupid girl she knew of music and could find rhythm in it.

She almost stopped. Huh. She hadn’t danced in so long. It had been…months. She wondered—she entered a large, light themed ballroom. It was quite empty, with a piano just at the end. The tall ceilings were held up with large white pillars, with decked curtains hanging from the ceilings and making a jump at every tenth mark on the ceiling. In the low light that she cast a spell of, she could make out gold trimmings on the tall, majestic windows and snow falling almost slowly. A balcony was just across the ballroom, but the curtains were mostly covering it. It was cooler. She looked behind her to see she had probably taken more and more turns than she had originally thought.

She approached the piano, and drummed one finger on it, humming with it. Her voice felt tight. “Do you play?”

She jumped a near mile in the air, turning and stumbling backwards around the piano, “Oh!” She gasped, seeing the boy—son—of the Vidals. “Oh! It’s you.”

“I am so sorry, mademoiselle, I did not wish to startle you.” His own French accent was fainter, and subtle but very prominent. He was rather tall, especially standing straight as he was and it scared her. “I am sorry to have followed you, but I wish to apologize about my sister’s behavior. I know she upset you.”

Once more, seemingly out of breath, she nodded and said, “Oh.” What was there to say? She felt her heart drumming and her hands start to shake. “Okay.”

It was awkward for a moment, before he gestured to the piano she had moved behind. “Do you play?” She could only nod. “Ah. I play as well, though I am sure you out master me. I noticed you have graceful fingers, very good for piano.” He noted and she looked down at her hands, finding herself so confused that they had settled to intertwine in front of her. Her fingers were pale, her nails long enough to create bloody holes in her palm. She had never thought her fingers…graceful…

She felt her breathing slow as she asked, “Oh?”

He was approaching, slowly and cautiously, but she didn’t at all feel panicked. “Yes, long and slim.” He was smiling but his smile dropped, “I hope I have no offended you—I just could not help but noticing.”

She shook her head and smiled, “No, thank you. No one has ever complimented my…fingers.”

His smile returned—he had dimples. “Very graceful. What do you play?”

She listed off some titles of the cmpositions she played, and he nodded, seeming to know them all. “Ah, yes, they are very popular amongst ze muggles az well.” This made her stop.

“Muggles?”

“Mozart was a muggle. He was indeed very infectious on us wizarding kind. I su’ppose Bash was very well into it as well, but my favorite is Clair de Lune.” He started strumming his fingers along the piano keys while her mind reeled. She played muggle piano compositions. Her favorite compositions were originated from the Muggle world. She knew and participated actively in the Muggle customs. Her heart was hammering once more—if they could play music so beautiful and sweet, how could they be the barbarians her father spoke of. Unintelligent and uncivilized yet she, a Malfoy, knew many of their compositions.

The Vidal boy kept strumming but it changed from Clair de Lune to a snippet of the Nutcracker ballet piece, the music so sweet she couldn’t keep herself from smiling, “The nutcracker.”

He smiled bashfully up at her, “I knew you were a dancer. You move much too gracefully not to be.”

“So overall I’m graceful?” She smiled. Her brother, she liked better. Camila was not so much likable. He looked down at his set, as if hiding a blush. “Thank you—oh, I don’t know your name.”

“Frances.” He replied. “And you are Rosemary, of course.”

She dimpled. “Of course.” She gazed away out into the ballroom. It was darkening, her spell wearing off slowly. She took her wand out once more, “Lumos!” She called and the room lightened slightly. A weird setting of the light made her nearly topple to the side, she swayed in dizziness so strong. “Oh!”

The feeling of cold dread filled her, the same as of the day she had fallen into the lake, the same now. It was cold and set shivers all over her body, most especially her chest. It felt as if though water was filling her lungs, as it had that day, but now it was different. She felt as if though…as if though she was watching someone drown.

And then, “Do you hear that?” Rose whispered to Frances, or to anyone, because Merlin’s beard, _someone’s drowning._ She turned sharply and nearly slid as she ran out of the room. It felt almost scandalous, to run in a dress away from a boy _with her hair down._ But someone, she swore, she knew was drowning and she did not know how nor why but she _had_ to help.

She was sure she was running past the right corners, but she didn’t hear the music of the ball, nor any people but Frances, who had followed worriedly. She started to scream out at some point, yelling if there was anyone near but it had seemed that no one was—but someone was drowning! Someone was dying as she ran and she couldn’t keep the feeling from rising into her throat and she couldn’t keep herself properly upright but she continued to run and run and run and run until, at some point, she was out of breathe and…outside…? How did she…?

She looked around blindly, as it was dark and the snow was falling over her but she still felt the—the what? The person drowning? This was crazy! “Rosemary, please, come inside, I do not theenk you are well.”

She ignored Frances, walking farther and farther into the snow bank and finally, so far out of the reach of the buildings that its light no longer reach them. She stopped. It was silent and cold but the freezing (?) wind could not touch her in this rapid heat she was building up. “Rosemary, please.”

Frances came to a halt just by her, shrugging off his jacket immediately to cover her shoulders. “Please, tell me what is zee matter.”

“I—I thought…I thought someone….” But as she said these words, a silence filled her ears, where she could no longer feel the beat of her own heart, where she lost all sense of the cold around her or her hair hitting her face or the boy trying to warm her by pulling the jacket tight—she could only feel the horror fill her gazing up the next hill and seeing a dark shadow fall into a well, and then she felt the cold release of breath and then only her pitching scream filled the air.

 

“…poor things had to witness that horrific scene…

“…what were they doing out in the snow…?

“…Lucius must be horrified his daughter is caught up in this…

“….Poor Rosemary….

Over and over, different bits and pieces of dialogue filled Rose’s mind when she sat in front of her mirror and let her mother brush out her long hair. She couldn’t meet her eyes, not even when her parents came running when Frances went back to scream for help, not when her mother tried to evade Rosemary’s eyes from when they pulled the man out of the well, and not now.

The gentle, nearly invisible tug of the brush through Rose’s hair felt familiar. She’d been doing since she was a baby. She would always be her mother’s girl, even if she was gone more than half the year now. She wanted her mother to put her arms around, she realized in a quick stare down of herself in the mirror. She was afraid if she looked too long at her light reflection, she would cry. “Your hair is waving.”

Startled, Rose accidently looked up. Her mother did not meet her eyes, much to concentrated on her work of her hair. “Pardon?”

“Your hair.” She stated. “It’s becoming less straight. Not wavy, just less straight.” She said. Rose did not know what to do with this bit of information so she only nodded and looked down. If she looked back far enough, she could peek at her hair. It now reached her waist. She frowned at it. “How about a trim, hm?”

Now she met her eyes. A trim? As in, a haircut? Her mother adored her long hair, more than anything most days. It was easy to pull up and braid and cross over but to cut it? “Why?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice for a change, my flower?” She smiled sweetly, her full lips painting her dimples out. “Perhaps add some movement to your hair. Or shall we keep it to one length, hmm?”

Rose shrugged, “Now?” When her mother nodded, Rose bit down on her lip gently in hesitation, “Just a little. Not too short.”

“Of course not.” So she listened to the gentle but quick cuts of her hair being cut off. Instead of to her waist, her hair went down to her mid-back, just below her developing bosom, near her elbow. It felt…thicker. “Cut the ends off, hmm? Now it’s all healthy. Nice shine to it, and it bounces.” Her mother ran her fingers down her new hair length lovingly, appreciating its texture and smoothing it out. “Rose.”

Her mother moved to kneel next to her feet, and take her hands into hers, “My dear Rose, I’m so sorry for what you witnessed tonight. I am so, so sorry I could not protect you from that trauma of seeing that. That man was not well, you must not feel sorry. If he had been well, he would have told someone. My flower, don’t ever hesitate in not telling me—us, something. Please. I want you safe, Rose. I want you well.”

Later that night, when her mother retired from her bedroom, and Rose had drawn out her hair and ran her fingers through it for the first time. It was surprising when it ended before it should have. She snapped her head from side to side, feeling its sudden lightness. Her hair hit her in the eye once more, and she stopped. “Rose?”

She snapped her head up, expecting to see Lily, probably, but instead seeing her bedroom door open and close. “Draco?”

It was silent as Draco crawled into bed next to her and tucked himself in, “I’m sorry for the letter thing.”

“I know.” Rose said, laying down on her side. They had often times snuck into each other’s beds with books in hands and lights at the touch, just to giggle and talk and tell each other stories and jokes and pretend they were asleep when either their mother or father opened the door to check on them. She was sure their parents knew they weren’t but never interrupted. They had not done so since they were kids. She missed this. She missed her brother. “I’m sorry she didn’t write to you.”

It was silent for a few moments, before, “I know too.”

It was quiet for a while, and they stared up at the roses that glowed in the dark on her ceiling. Rose was always jealous of Draco’s name meaning a star constellation. She wanted stars on her ceiling, not flowers. “I think you should go.”

Rose turned to look at Draco, but he was still staring up at the roses. “What?”

“I think you should go. Tomorrow…or now.” Okay, now she knew that he was talking crazy. “You can be back by morning. I won’t tell. No, its better if you go now. No one would be able to tell if there was a little Floo dust gone, I’m sure. And Doby won’t say a thing, he wouldn’t. And—”

“Draco!” She turned to sit up. “That’s crazy.”

“She wrote to you, Mer.” Her childhood nickname, before he could pronounce her actual name. “She wrote to you and asked you to come and I ruined it—its only fair.”

“Dra—”

“You want to see her.”

“That’s not the point, Draco.” She said but his words, him saying that, she felt hope fill her once more. Yes, yes she did want to see her. She wanted to see Ted and Andromeda and Dora, more than anything.

“Whatever happened tonight, Mer, whatever happened to you, I’m sure mother and father do not—could not understand. Maybe—maybe going to…our aunt…maybe she can understand. Maybe her daughter could.”

They sat in silence, before she threw over her covers and shifted around to her wardrobe. She grabbed her book bag, and made sure the book was still there…but it was on the floor next to it. “Draco? Did you go through my bag?”

“….yes?”

She scolded into the darkness but said nothing, packing the book and pulling on warmer pants and a warm jacket. Then she turned to Draco, who was still staring up at the ceiling, “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

He sat up, “What?”

“You’re coming. Go on and hurry up, we haven’t got all night.” She was sure he was going to argue but instead, he got up and slid to the door, slipping out silently. A minute or two later, he was back with a hat on and his jacket and gloves.

Together, they crept down the manor stairs, careful with every step. They had grown up in that house and spent theirs lives in that house, so it was natural that they knew every slight creak it let out and where. Slowly, just an hour before midnight, Draco and Rose stood in front of the fire place connected to the Floo Network, each holding some floo.

“You first.” She stepped aside for him but he didn’t move. “Draco.”

“No, I—I can’t go.” He turned to her before she could start an argument, “I can’t meet them—I just can’t. I’ll stay here and cover for you. I’m sorry, Mer.” And before she could argue, he pulled her by the elbow into the fire and shut the escape. “Go, because I’m not going to let you out.” After a moment of staring, he added, “Tell me all about it.”

Without another word, Rose, staring at Draco in mild disappointment, called out, “Tonks Residence.”


	13. The Tonks and the Truth

It felt as though she were being sucked down a giant drain, both because she felt as if though her brother had just disowned her and because she was in the Floo Network. It felt like she was spinning very fast, the roaring in her ears was deafening. She tried to keep her eyes open but the whirl of green flames made her feel sick, and gave her familiar tones of flashbacks, but from what she could not remember.  She kept as still as possible, before finally, she was able to stumble out of a fireplace of a dimly lit room.

It was the warmth of the room that first registered with her, but then it was the smell of something nice swirling through the air and the warmth that sent shivers up Rose’s back. It was dark, but as always in the dark, she saw perfectly clearly the cream couches and round coffee table and the walls with picture frames everywhere is was convenient. The pictures were moving but then some weren’t. She was sure these were muggle pictures—Hermione had shown her some. Most were the same couple, a dark haired woman and a faired haired man with a bubble-gum pink haired girl in between—some on her father’s shoulders, some in her mother’s arms, but all the time smiling wide. Huh. She had never seen pictures of her family smiling like this.

She heard footsteps come down the hall, around a wall, and suddenly, a bubble-gum pink haired girl had drawn her wand on Rose, causing her to take a step backwards. “H-hey Dora.”

Nymphadora Tonks was nearly exactly how she pictured her, and that’s some good guessing ince she could change her appearance at will. Her hair was messy and pixie cut short and she was pretty tall, and she was wearing scratched up t-shirts with logos on them and there were rips in her jeans. In conclusion, Dora Tonks is the absolute coolest person Rose had ever seen.

“Dora!” Another voice echoed from the other side of the house. Dora must have still be frozen in surprise because she didn’t lower her wand but just stared at Rose as if she were the moon to her ocean.

“You’re very pale.” Dora said finally, making Rose frown in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Not that it isn’t nice to be pale! I mean, it goes really nice with your eyes and you sort of have freckles too, but I guess you don’t spend much time in the sun? Not that that’s a bad thing I mean lots of people have less red blood cells than others, making them paler than most, but y’know it suits you.” She smiled widely, and drew back her wand, hiding it inside her jean’s pocket. Then, randomly, she surged forward and pulled Rose into her arms, squeezing Rose’s middle and squishing her face into Dora’s shoulder. “You are so much _shooortterr_ than I thought!” She squeeze. “Pocket sized.” She laughed.

“Dora?” The voice called once more, closer now and then a woman turned the corner into the living room and then skidded to a stop.

She was sure this was Andromeda Tonks, with the dark hair and dimples from the pictures on the wall, but the eyebrow arch and the full pouty lips and the height was the most familiar because they belonged to Rose as well. Staring at Andromeda was like staring into a mirror that gave you two decades and dark hair. “Oh!” She gasped at the sight of Rose, as if she too saw the familiarity between them.

The two stood staring at each other, before Dora spoke, “Mom, you recognize Rose, don’t you? She looks like you a lot, huh?” Dora glanced only for a moment to her mother before returning to stare at Rose. “Just…”

“A lot paler?” Rose offered, smiling gently.

Dora snorted. “Exactly.” She glanced back at Andromeda, who had not moved. She was staring with absolute shock, at Rose, maybe having a flashback? She looked lots like her mother—and her aunt, apparently. “Mum?”

Andromeda took a tentative step forward, her hand reach out, hesitating, “You look so much like her, Rose” She whispered, stroking a strand of her hair, captured by the picture of Rose, perhaps. “So much….”

“So…so you know who I am, then? You know my name?” Rose asked, a feeling unfamiliar to her filling her. Andromeda continued to stroke her hair and smiled, so lightly yet so prominently, that her entire face lit up with her dimples and her eyes, that her brows settled and that her face flushed.

“Of course, how could I not?” She cupped her cheeks, smoothing her cheeks and tucking hair behind her ears. Rose, offhandedly remembered that this was the first time that she kept her hair down in front of people who were not her famil—well, she supposed that this doesn’t truly count, as they were family, but she couldn’t believe it. “Granted, you were so—so small when I first saw you, and it was the last time I saw you in person but…you are so much like her.”

This caught her attention, “You knew me? You—you saw me? But I—I thought, well you were…um,” Andromeda smiled at her confusion and let her take a breath without interrupting. “I did not know you and my mother were at all friends.”

She shrugged lightly, letting her shoulders fall. “I’d thought you would want the full story—better should you be sitting. Won’t you sit? Um, tea?”

The hallway opened up straight from the doorway, though Dora led her down the opposite direction, towards where the stairs peeked from, but the kitchen was to an immediate left. Carpet covered every inch of the living room and hallway and what seemed to be a library through an open arched doorway connected to the living room. Across the library—or office?—was the kitchen where they all sat while Andromeda made tea. The dining room was occupying the room in front of the kitchen, to the left of the front doorway in the hall.  Rose took in the painted like house, and the big window over the counter top, looking out a garden in the dark. But, of course, Rose had full vision in the dark. Another thing to ask Andromeda of.

Andromeda Tonks looked so much like Rose, it was scary, Rose thought while watching her place the tea in front of her, because she always had her mother’s air of looks but dialed down, but seeing her—Andromeda—she realized she took after her mother’s sister as well. Though they had different hair and eye and eyebrow colors, the two of them were very similar. The eyebrows, and the rounded lips and the wide, curved eyes, and the thick hair was all the same. She saw the dimples and she saw the slight incline of their perfectly upturned noses, though hers was more of a button while Rose’s was a slight upturn slope. Should anyone put their faces together, she was sure they would be mirror like. Her hair was a gentle dark brown, and her eyes were a deep, hazel color, a black and…blue? Or both? Or hers?

Dora suddenly lurched forward behind her chair and nearly bumped into her mother but Andromeda was practiced in her trade of clumsiness and stepped gracefully out of the way, holding her leg out to have Dora land on, “Thanks mum!” Dora was untouched by her caught leg and continued on her journey to get biscuits.

“Well, you were at least honest in your letters,” Rose said to Dora, snorting. “So…where’s your dad?”

“Last minute shopping, as always the procrastinating man,” Andromeda smiled down at her own tea as she stirred it. “Marvelous gifts, terrible timing.”  

“One year, he built a multi broom generated surfboard. I broke my leg twice. It was bloody brilliant.” She grinned at Rose and Rose smiled back. “What’s in the bag, by the way?”

Rose looked down at the bag between her legs on the floor, and she bit her lip, “Something I wanted to ask about, Andromeda.” She slipped her hand through the opening and pulled the book out. “Does this mean anything to you?” She slid the book onto the table and watched them read it and freeze immediately.

“W-where…?”

“The library, at school.” She said, hoping they wouldn’t ask which section from which she had nicked it from. “There’s a page—it’s really weird, but I don’t know if you might be able to understand it…page 296.” She told Dora, who had started to flip through it.

She frowned, “There is no page 296.” She looked up. “Sorry, did I mishear?”

“Dora, hand me the book.” Andromeda asked, her hand out. Dora, shrugging, gave the book to her. Andromeda closed the book and then opened it, flipping through pages until she stopped. “Page nine-hundred and ninety-six?” At Rose’s nod, she turned the book, “Interesting commentary. Should you not be eligible, I’d say this book would screech. Usually happens when someone who very faintly has the ability of one opens this book—or perhaps when the male heir of them opens it. It is only eligible to women, and only to those who have the full title of a banshee.”

“Wait, wait mum,” Dora shared a look with Andromeda. “Does this—hold on, this means that she—?”

“As far as I fear so, yes.” She murmured. Rose watched this interaction with raised eyebrows, glancing between them. “Rose, you saw how you and I could find the page, but Dora could not?” Rose nodded slowly. “How is it that you found this book? And please, spare me the omitting, because I know it’s from the Restricted Section of the library.” She raised her eyebrows and Rose grimaced.

“It sort of…okay it’s a long story but it was…pushed off its shelf…”

“Pushed itself off the shelf…do you mean someone…pushed it off? Or was it just…” Andromeda shrugged. “Perhaps, there’s something more to the story?”

It was an invitation, she saw this clearly enough, and she took it. She explained how the woman she had been seeing, and what she had been telling her, and who she thought she might be. Andromeda was listening carefully and adamantly, only seeming to be surprised when she told her about the name, “Did she tell you her name?”

“No. I just—I just thought it was hers—I mean, like it suited her. Like, I thought of it myself, it’s probably not her name—”

“No, it’s her name.” Andromeda muttered, holing her head over her hands. “Red hair, green eyes and green dress.” For a moment, Rose could only hear the pain in her voice and then she stared too hard to not notice the purple color on her nails. Rose, in a moment of complete surprise, looked around the kitchen, to look at the pictures and to find a picture conveniently hung on the wall in the hallway, the one frame she could see from the kitchen in which she sat; Lily, with her arm around a tall man, was smiling at the camera but she was laughing, with the young woman on the other side of the tall man, both smiling at each other rather than the camera. There was a man on Lily’s other side, who looked strangely a bit like her, with the dark sheet of hair, but much taller than her he was.

“You knew her.” Rose said. “You knew her, right? That’s her in the picture, that’s the color she wore on your nails, so you knew her well?”

“Lily,” She spoke with a hoarse voice. She took several breaths in and Dora put her hand on her shoulder. She stroked her hand. “She is—was my best friend. All through our years at Hogwarts, we were the best of friends, but I never…I never thought she could…”

She looked up, at Rose, “Rose, how much do you know about your…mother’s side of the family?”

This was awkward—yes, she knew just a tablespoon about her family. They were the most respectable of all the wizards in Europe, the oldest of the purebloods and the very last generation of their family were sitting in that kitchen—at least, two thirds and the more unimportant parts. Draco was the last of their line to continue the family name, though it was not the ‘Black’ name that would continue. It was the Malfoy name, as long as Rose was still expected to, ugh, marry. Unless Andromeda’s cousin could break out of Azkaban in the next couple years, he would be the last remaining Black and the last to pass the family name.

She knew his brother, Regulus, died just a year or two before she was born. Died, or went missing, the only way they, her family, knew for sure was that his death eater mark went limpid, according to her parents. She did not risk asking for anything more on the subject, because asking of her mother’s family was dangerous territory. They had a family tree in one of the rooms, but it stayed mostly covered, but for the Malfoy extension. Her father’s sister, Pandora, was scratched out for some reason. She was sure she’d been disowned, but she did not want to risk her father’s wrath.

Speaking of disownment, “I know you were disowned, because you married Ted, and about most of the remaining members are in prison…”

“Sirius….” She cringed, more tears leaking out of her eyes. Rose did not know what to do. The only person who’d ever cried in front of her were Hermione and Draco. What was she supposed to do in this scene? “Is no criminal. But you needn’t know that now. What you must know is, is that yes I was disowned, but not only because I married Ted. It was a long war in our house, long before I even knew Ted, and it was because of one sole reason. At this point, I think you can probably guess what the reason is.”

 She glanced down at the book. “Because you aren’t just a witch…” Andromeda nodded.

“I only realized I was what I was when I first found the…the body of my uncle. I was screaming, I hadn’t realized I rendered my aunt half deaf when she was shaking me. I was only thirteen, and it was in the middle of the year, so when I realized what all the signs meant, I stole this very book,” She traced the binding of the book. “Took it to my dorm and studied it for hours. Told Lily about it and we near about just drowned in research of how to properly handle _this_. Everything—everything we found was so…horrific. Not one book was written by a banshee, herself, just because they are near extinct. Sure, one banshee lures around in older towns, yes, but those are withered souls, what those of us become when we go insane. Truly, _truly_ insane.”

Rose listened, “It wasn’t until your mother found out—or at least suspected. She’s two years my senior, and was in her fifth year when she took it to Dumbledore, under the strict code of it being her job as a prefect.” Her _mother_ ….but….her head started swimming. “Dumbledore helped, but only slightly because he was the scientist and I was the experiment. I was of use to him, but not when I could not be controlled…in the later years, when I was properly friends with the Mara—with my friends, my _lasting_ friends, did the war truly start and I was off my chain as murders started occurring everywhere. Fourteen in one week, I nearly lost my head _screaming_.”

“I never—I never realized Lily could be…”

“Lily was a banshee?” Rose asked in shock. “But—how?”

“She wasn’t—I’m sure she wasn’t. The most I knew of banshees was that they often drifted away from each other and we were as thick as thieves. But that was the problem—most of what we knew was fake, because they were all written by those experts who claim they studied them but never did. In my knowledge, there’s not book about banshees written by a banshee. It made it tougher than it needed to be, because I was really only affected most times by the ghosts. They attached themselves to me most times, because I’m a beacon from both sides. The living and the dead. Not all are ghosts though, and many repel against me because of how unnaturally we tend to be.”

“You said most times? Were there other things?” Rose asked. Taking this all in was hard but listening to it was opening. It was having her connect lines and that was good—but terrifying. She knew what was happening now but she couldn’t bear to ask the question.

“When a person were to die, they had to be close to me for me to get the signs. Close to me physically and emotionally—I can wander to a random town just over this one and find a dead body because they are so close, or I can…” She took a breath. “I can nearly just about smell the scent of someone whos about to die. Its one of my warnings signs. I might feel their death as if I were dying too, or I could suddenly think about them and get anxious or…or I could lose consciousness and wander to a place that connects to their death. Or I could wander to them.”

She was silent, taking it in more privately, rubbing her eyes and running and a hand through her hair. This made all too much sense—wandering, feeling their death, thinking of someone and getting anxious…the screaming, the ghosts meddling with her in places they didn’t belong….

“Andromeda, is this….is being a banshee passed onto your child? Was you’re mother a banshee? Was my mom? Is that why she reported you…?”

“Your mother, by my far extensive knowledge, is not a banshee. My…abilities were not inherited but born with them, when I was nearly murdered by my sister…my twin sister.”

Rose gasped, “The old horror tale…”

Andromeda nodded, looking away, “She took it to heart.”

There was an old horror tale, in which should there be a witch twin and witch wizard born, they always met a painful end, where the older twin murders the younger one. Usually, in the tales, the wizard is the older sibling and usually the witch is murdered. She knew it was a hoax, but hearing her aunt tell her about her other aunt trying to murder her was frightening because it was about an old tale. Witch and wizard sets of twins were very rare, and she was the younger twin witch sister of her older, twin wizard brother… “Oh,”

“She was very, very mentally unstable and never got along with my sets of morals, but that led her to trying to murder me on our seventh birthday.”

She couldn’t help but ask, “How…?” She could bring herself to finish the sentence.

“She tried to drown me.”

“Oh,”

It was silent for a moment, before Rose asked, “Does this make Dora a banshee? Or did she inherit it differently and is a metamorphmagus?”

Andromeda shook her head, placing her chin in her palm. “No, Dora isn’t my biological daughter. Most children born of banshees don’t survive the first few hours. There are actually no evidence of banshees who bore children that survived.”

“Wait—you’re adopted?” Rose turned to Dora. “I—I didn’t know that.”

“Well, my dad is a muggle-born, as you know, and I’m his second cousin but when I was born, my parents freaked because I immediately showed signs of being a metamorphmagus. Mum and Dad were in their fifth and sixth year when I was born and it was only when I was five did they legally adopt me, since my biological parents, Dad’s cousins, were showing abusive tendencies over me, mostly because I was a witch and changed my appearance. They did, however, raise me and parent me from one year old over summers, since I was mostly with Dad’s parents over the summers. The adoption forms when in they day they got married, but there was barely any celebration back then. Not with a war.”

“Huh…” Rose muttered. “So…there’s no way you could be a banshee?” Dora shook her head, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, then if banshees can’t have children, how are they inherited.”

“Well…”Andromeda bit her lip. “First of all, only the daughters acquire the….ability…and it doesn’t….doesn’t have to be _my_ daughter….just the next girl born on my side….of the family…”

Rose was expecting this—she had been putting the pieces together the entire time she was here, but to have the confirmation she had just been given… “So…I’m a…a…?”

Andromeda nodded and Dora reached for her hand, “Yes. You are a banshee.”

 

It took a moment, where she only drank the warm tea. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until Andromeda got up and moved around the corner to the study, passing the picture of Lily and James, to come back in with a blanket, which she tucked around her shoulders, “It’s your Christmas present, and since its past midnight, Merry Christmas, Rose. I heard you where sorted into Slytherin…and it is rather cold in those dungeons so…” Andromeda trailed off, a smile dazzlingly her face. Around her shoulders, the blanket changed colros to lavender. Rose’s mouth popped open—warm, color changing and rather large….

“Oh, don’t mind its size! It’ll grow as you want it, and it’ll change color as you feel. I helped mum make it.” Dora said, smiling brightly. Rose marveled at the scent coming off it—it smelled of her father’s study, of books and a fireplace. “Comes with a pillow too. Your brother has one too. Changes to fit any bag form.”

 “I suppose…it’s also an apology for such a bad first meeting and visit…” She bit her lip but sat once more, but now in the chair next to Rose. “How’s your family?”

Rose nodded, “Good… And thank you, for the blanket. And tea…it’s all very nice.”

Andromeda smiled with dimples—dimples! “We didn’t know you were coming—I was…surprised to see you’d come…after the owl explaining you couldn’t…I’d thought your parents had influenced you but I suppose not…” She pursed her lips, “Or, dare I assume, they don’t know?” Rose blushed and Andromeda chuckled lightly, “Well, you’re welcome anytime, Rose. And, your brother? How is your brother?”

This made her cold, “Fine. He—he almost came tonight.”

“Did he really? I’m sorry he didn’t, I would have wanted to meet him…”

“Why is it that you only wrote to me, Dora? Why not Draco? Why only me?” Rose questioned Dora. “Is it because…I’m…talented? Would no one have told me if I didn’t come?”

“Well….” Dora cringed and Rose nodded, looking away. “Look, Rose, I would have loved to talk to your brother and get to know him, but we’d met only one other occasion and he had…well, he certainly was not welcoming.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. Her brother had never told her that. “Sorry.”

“Apologizing for someone else’s actions are not your responsibility Rose.” Andromeda told her, “Causes guilt. I’d rather avoid it, if I were you.” She thoughtfully tucked some hair behind Rose’s ear. “Do tell me, do you know Harry? Harry Potter, that is.”

Rose nodded slowly, “Yeah, we’re pretty good friends.” Rose smiled at the mention of Harry. She wondered idly if he would like his gift from her.

Andromeda nodded, and a new emotion tonned her face, “Hmm…and how is he fairing, in Hogwarts?” She was still stroking her hair.

“He’s doing good in his classes, I’d say. Um, he’s got other friends, we’re all like, a group…so…” Rose nodded. “He’s joined the Gryffindor quidditch team, he’s seeker. He’s really rather good, I bet we match each other. And he won the last game, though we think Snape—Professor Snape, jinxed his broom.” At this Andromeda looked startled.

“Pro—you mean Severus Snape? Oh, he gave Dora such a hard time as well…”

Dora was grinning, “Well, I did not exactly make it easy for him,” She nearly spilled her tea laughing and Rose smiled. “But why jinx?”

“It’s a long story…” Rose sighed. “Snape doesn’t seem to like him.”

“Tut…he doesn’t seem to like anyone from Gryffindor….but I do remember a lot of tense air between Snape and James—James Potter, Harry’s father. He and Lily Evans, his mother, had been quite close, up until their fifth year. Snape was…awful, even back then, though I can’t really blame him for a lot of it, bad home life is what I suspect at best. No excuse though—want me to talk to him? Or Dumbledore. Heavens knows I’ll be talking to him later this year, why not now?” She muttered to herself.

Rose shook her head, “Nah, I don’t think my parents wouldn’t find it suspicious. And what’s that about the end of the year?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Rose, love.” Andromeda sighed once more, rubbing her temples, “Just…just tell Harry not to believe anything Snape says about his dad—or mum. Please. I’m fairly certain he will say some very unfair things and I’d rather Harry not believe them.”

“Al…right?” Rose frowned in confusion. She looked over to the picture once more. “I like the fact that you guys were best friends. Makes me feel better about my friendship with Harry, Hermione and Ron. Oh, those are our other friends.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m Slytherin, they’re Gryffindor. Everyone thinks we should be enemies, but I just don’t feel the need to fall into a routine set in by people we don’t even know. You guys being friends before us…makes it feel sort of like its destiny.” She smiled to herself, not seeing the worried expression written on her aunt’s face.

“As much as I enjoy talking with you, love, its late. I’d rather not keep you here much longer.” Andromeda examined her wristwatch. “Let me get Draco’s gift.” Rose got up with them, turning her back to fold the blanket up and shove it inside her bag alongside the book that Dora held up.

“It’s light too, isn’t it?” She grinned after putting both gifts in the bag.

“Alright,” Andromeda stood by Rose before the fire, and hugged her, and immediately, Rose felt the desire to just hug her and not go home and stay in the warm, cozy house and talk with her and Dora and learn about everything they could tell her about. She wanted to meet Ted and she wanted to ask him about what religion is, because Camila’s words had still drifted around her subconscious, and she wanted to know them and call them her family without not knowing them. “Well, you are all set. Book?” Rose nodded. “Gifts?” Rose nodded, Dora smiled at her mother with a nod that Rose ignored. “Jacket?” Rose pulled it on. “Well, I suppose…Rosemary, it was amazing to meet you, and to know you a little better than a name…please, don’t forget to tell Harry….” She suddenly gasped, “Oh, just a moment!” She nearly ran from the room, there was a beat, and then she came back, holding a little red box with the Gryffindor symbol in it, that looked like a ring box. “Give this to him—for a gift.”

She pocketed it, promising she would not open it until it was given to Harry. “You are welcome any time, Rose, and please, please do send a letter. Regular post and by owl are both encouraged,” Andromeda had tears in her eyes when she dropped again to hug her.

“I will.” She hugged Dora. “Say hi, to Ted for me. I’m upset I didn’t meet him.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to come by again, to meet him—y’know, to not be rude.” Dora grinned again, but more of a sad smile. “I’ll look on for your letter.”

Rose turned to the fire, and decided to do it, “Andromeda, can I learn—can I learn to be a banshee and—and control whatever this is? Would you…would you teach me?”

Andromeda looked a little taken back, but her soft, sweet smile was back, “Of course, love.”

She stepped into the fire this time with tears that only started to fall after she was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry and Ron had forgotten all about Flamel the moment the girls had left for the holidays.

They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows -- and plotting ways of getting Rosemary’s brother expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work. Harry imagined Rose slapping Ron and Harry over the head with her books if they actually did any of them.

Ron had also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family -- in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted. Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send _him_ , we can afford to lose him."

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. "Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

 "You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!" He was shocked at the sight. He’d never in his life gotten a real present—nor had he had anyone nice enough to get him presents.

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's. Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was ‘ _To Harry, from Hagrid.’_ Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it—it sounded a bit like an owl. A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._

Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. "That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence. "Weird!" he said, “What a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?" He looked to the last three packages.

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and—oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater." Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. "Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon." Ron picked up two more of the lumpy packages, “Huh. She’s made one for Rose and Hermione it seems.” He was thoughtful for a moment.

"That's really nice of her," Harry said, trying the fudge, which was very tasty. His next present also contained candy—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Rose’s present was the smallest, and when he opened it he couldn’t pick it up. It was the lightest but the most in capacity, with three frames, with pictures already placed behind the glass. One of them was all of his friends smiling at the camera. Hermione and Rose were smiling widely, while Harry and Ron were laughing at something, their eyes closed. The background showed it was fall, on the school grounds. Next one was just Ron, Hermione and Harry, and the longer he stared at it, the more pictures it changed. There were at least seven pictures of them three and then four. The last one made him blush like the day it was taken—just Harry and Rose, on one of the days which Rose was teaching them to skate, nearly a week or two after she’d fallen in.

As horrific as that day had been, the one captured on the picture was all amusement, as Harry had still been struggling with skating and fallen right into her. They were smiling and they had fallen on top of each other right after this was taken but it was one of two pictures that existed of just the two of them. The second picture was after this one, changing before Harry’s eyes, to one of Rose and Harry actually looking at the camera, but Harry even in this picture was blushing profusely because Rose had posed with her elbow on Harry’s shoulder and her head leaning against it, as if his shoulder was a desk. It was in the library, the background giving it away, and Rose’s pony tail fell on her arm. He remembered it tickled his neck, and gave off the smell of, ironically, roses.

He also picked up a black case for his case, with a red napkin (?) to clean them with. He was glad he was facing away from Ron, his face still felt hot.

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was light and oddly shaped. When he unwrapped it, something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. "I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. Harry could see a book peeking from under his sweater, in a box that claimed it was from Rose, something about Ron’s favorite Quidditch team but with moving images on the pages and self-updating scores. "If that's what I think it is—they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?" Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is—try it on." Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. "It is! Look down!" Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone.

He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!" Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you._

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak. "I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet. "Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look—Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!" Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. "Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned half-heartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid—we know we're called Gred and Forge."

 "What's all this noise?” Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."

"I—don't—want,” Percy struggled thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce—and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

_Use it well._

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back-- his father's cloak -- he felt that this time -- the first time – he wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was.

He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Step ping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence—the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear splitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside—stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him -- the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket -- but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees—Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

 

 

Rose jolted awake from her bed at the sound of one high, unbroken, long ear splitting screech, that was coming from nowhere but which rang between her ears and made her clutch her head in pain. In the haze of panic, she thought she could see someone behind her eyelids but then there was only a faint ringing of the scream.

For a couple minutes she was very confused as to what had just happened. The morning light that filled the room was confusing, because there was no morning light in the girls’ dorms. It took a few minutes to realize she was no longer in the girls’ dorms and it was only just cold enough to make her think so. She looked in confusion to the window to find it was shut. Her door, as well, was shut. Her room was freezing, however, and when she threw her blanket over her legs to go ask her mother to warm it, she found goosebumps all up along her legs and then she saw blood coating her legs.

Panting, she moved up along the bed, and the blood was gone. Still gasping and her head now spinning, she laid her head against her knees, willing for the nausea to go away. Perhaps it was the night’s events that had her hallucinating now—did banshees hallucinate? Who was she supposed to ask?

At some point, she decided she could stand when she was shivering. Cautiously, she looked down at her legs but found only pale skin, the only damage being the scars, all curving down to between her inner thighs. It was only one look before she had to run to the bathroom as the nausea rolled back. It had only been two days of her break and she was already a mess.

How did she get here? Just three months ago, she was excited to wake up the next morning in Hogwarts, to be in Slytherin, to go to lessons and learn magic properly and graduate as a prefect and head girl of her house, to make friends. What—why had his happened to her? Why her, specifically? Guilt flooded her—if not her than some other girl and if not some other girl than her. It was an endless limbo—she didn’t know who to blame for this.

Or maybe there was no one to blame for this because it just happens—she had never heard of anything like this, no one had ever explained or taught her anything about this. The only blood she knew about was her menstrual cycle, which occurred about a year after your breasts start developing. Her mother had taught her that—and that was all. Nothing about being—being _hurt_ there. By another person—by a _boy_.

And her mother—what would her mother say about this? She wouldn’t even let her wear her hair down—to know she was hurt _there._ She would be in so much trouble, and then her father would know and then she would be known as the girl who’d been hurt there.

Or…maybe…maybe she could ask Andromeda…? Or Dora. Dora was going to become an Auror, she had to know something about what she had been through—what had been done to her. Right?

The thought of Andromeda and Dora made her think—Dora was adopted into the family, which meant she could not know if this, whatever it was, was because she was a banshee? (Referring to herself as so was strange, she had yet to refer to herself out loud as such). Maybe Andromeda would know—but could she trust her to ask—yes, yes she could.

It was so strange—her aunt and Harry’s mother had been best friends. She had known Harry’s parents, and perhaps in another life, Harry could have been the one to introduce Rose and Draco to Andromeda and Dora and Ted. In another life, she would have known Lily Evans Potter in the flesh, and perhaps not be haunted by her memory all because she was…a banshee…

At the thought of Harry, she thought of the gift Andromeda had passed along to her to give to Harry. It was still in her book bag.

Quickly, but cautious to her moving stomach, she bounded back to her bedroom and took to her bag, taking the small package out, relieved it was still there. She pondered what her aunt had gifted her friend but her thoughts drifted quickly from the gift to the fact that her bag was empty. Draco’s gift was sitting under her bed until he would wake again and she could give it. She’d collapsed nearly immediately in her bedroom when she’d returned and had not a chance to actually sleep with the nightmares—no images but just a dooming feeling. As if something dark loomed over her nose as she slept, it infiltrated her dreams and made her heart race.

But her own gift was in her trunk, and Draco’s was under the bed and the bag was empty. She stared at it for a long moment before she realized—“Draco!?” She screeched.

Draco, in fact, did not have it and was very irritated at her choice method of waking him up. “It’s a book, Rose, it can’t grow legs—well.” He was thoughtful. “It _is_ magic…” This did not help Rose and she threw her hands up, and quickly moved down stairs, to the Floo room. Maybe she had dropped it…

“Aren’t we eager?” Her mother’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs and Rose slid right into Draco as she turned around but he held her up, “Merry Christmas, children.”

“Merry Christmas, Mother.” They said in unison and shared a look. Their mother did not seem off, or as if she’d found a book. It was foolish to assume that their parents had found it and if they had, well, they would need a good enough explanation as to why she’d had it. “If they have it, we find and burn it.” Rose muttered to Draco and who looked up to the ceiling and then down to the floor, which in their code, was a nod.

It was a long time before they had but a moment to themselves to go looking for it. It was a custom to open gifts before breakfast, and their parents were extra with gifts. They had a pile each. Clothes, jewelry, pretty trinkets and books, and a broom kit, the last only to Rose since she was the only one playing Quidditch on a team. It was a good two hours before they were left alone, but her parents did not seem any bit off. Actually, they seemed…less like always. Like, they were happier?

Strange, they never showed happiness for too long. But Rose didn’t have time to ponder this, because before noon, theirs parents were in their father’s office, the door closed with an instruction to keep inside the house.

“Maybe it’s outside.” Rose offered after they’d searched around the house, in every hidden place and were now on the very edge of giving up. They now laid in the living room/drawing room and exhausted. “We can sneak out through the secret passages—”

“Why is it so important to you that we get this book?” Draco asked, lulling his head to the side to look at her. “Haven’t you already read everything in that book already? What’s so special about it now?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhh,” She stared up at the ceiling, squinting, wondering if this was a good time to mention being a banshee. “Yeaaaaaaaah, abouuuuuuut thaaaaaaaat…”

“Rose.”

“Okay, well we haven’t checked out the—the library and office, maybe we can—”

“Rose,” Draco sat up, “You haven’t mentioned a thing about what happened...” He lowered his voice, glancing around the corners, “about what happened last night, at mother’s sister’s house.”

“You can call her our aunt, Draco. She isn’t a complete stranger,” Rose rolled her eyes.

Draco sat up, “Yes, she is, Rose. We don’t know anything about her—”

“But the fact that she was disowned, for marrying a _muggle-born_ , Draco,” She said, sitting up as well to look at him, “What era are we in?” Her tone had gotten defensive.

“She’s a pureblood, Rosemary, and she should have acted like one. Marrying a muggle-born tarnishes our family lines, you know that! Even associating with them—with anyone less than purebloods, its scandalous.” He said in a matter of fact manner.

“Because why?” Rose crossed her arms, “My best friend is a muggle-born, Draco, so be careful—”

“Be careful of what, Rose? Or you’ll hex me? I’m looking out for you!”

“Looking out for me?” She gasped, “And how’s that?”

Draco threw his hands up, “Imagine what our parents would say—”

“Pray do tell, of what, Draco?” The cold voice of their father spoke from behind them. If Rose looked like their mother, than Draco looked like their father. Though he wasn’t tall, at all, the same facial structure was beneath the roundness of her brother’s cheeks. The same gray eyes were displayed in their eyes, which was probably the most underlining feature.

The two of them immediately stood straight, Rose’s hands in front of hers, Draco’s folded behind his back. Her chin raised a little higher and she smiled, “Nothing, father.”

“The turn of events on the Quidditch team,” Draco asserted. “Rose was saying how that foul Harry Potter might lead the Gryffindor team to victory this year.”

“Well, I have faith in our dear Rose,” Their father stepped into the room, drawing out his words. “That Slytherin will win, of course.”

“Of course, Father.” Rose smiled her perfect smile, mentally thanking Draco and scowling at his choice of words.

“Well, my flower, you must trust you are brilliant—you take after me.” Her mother entered the room behind their father, taking her face gently in her hands, “Trust me.” She glanced back at their father. “And we have some news.”

“The Vidals, as you know, as very close family friends, always have been and,” Her father smiled, sending red flags between Draco and Rose, who glanced at each other to make sure they weren’t hallucinating. “I dare say they are to be family, in the coming years.”

Rose felt a strange cold feeling settle, perhaps it was dread because these next few words would be, and I quote, dreadful,

“Rose, you are to marry their son, Frances,”


	15. Muggle Town

She was sure that the book was gone, but so was her interest in it. Well, correction, so was her interest in everything. Including, any plans her family had set the next week, so any and every smile she had plastered on her perfect little face was just perfect enough to be believable. Because that’s what this family ruled in—perfection. And what could be more perfect than the perfect daughter of the perfect family marrying the perfect son of the perfect French family? Well, the knowledge that all members of these parties are pureblood.

Because, yes, that was perfection. Purebloods marrying purebloods. What else could make more sense? Rosemary Malfoy? The pureblood princess, marry anything less than a pureblood? Ludicrous! Unheard of! Unplanned of! Well, apparently, a lot has been unplanned.

Andromeda Tonks being married to a muggle-born wizard, _that_ was unplanned of. Sirius Black being imprisoned for the deaths of several of his friends, that was unplanned for. Rosemary Malfoy finding out she was a banshee through a dead mother of her friend, _that_ was unplanned of. Rosemary Malfoy marrying Frances Vidal in the coming years of their youth, however, was _not_ unplanned. Apparently, these plans loomed over her head for years.

Rosemary’s plan of action was not to fight her parents’ wishes. She’d learned soon enough that her voice was a drop of water compared to the thunderstorm of her parents. She might be a part of them, but they always overpower.

 _Omitting_ , Rosemary thought, _was not lying. Omitting was simply just, oh you know, keeping something purposely—accidently, even!—from a person_. This is what she thought, over and over when she and her family were to spend a few hours with the Vidals two days later. This, of course, was where her thought process had taken place. _Because omitting is not lying and so what I am doing is not wrong_ , Rosemary convinced herself. This is what she repeated to herself when she sent a letter that evening to Andromeda, requesting to speak once more.

She felt awful, but she used the blanket to soften Draco’s opinion on them before requesting for him to cover for her. It was manipulative but there must be some reason she was in Slytherin—his loyalty to her was a reason why he, too, was in Slytherin.

So it was the second week, which her parents would be occupied the entire day outdoors that Rose would sneak out of her bedroom and creep down the stairs to the Floo room. Draco was not involved in this process, however, though she trusted his word that he wouldn’t mess up. With this, she was gone and swiftly, she found herself in the Tonks family room.

Three people occupied the living room when she stumbled out. Dora was closest and laughed the hardest when she fell and was the cheeriest when she literally picked her right up from the floor and put her on her feet, “Sorry, I’ve never been so clumsy,” Rose blushed, tucking the unbraided part of her hair behind her ear. It felt so strange, not wearing her hair up, but it seemed to mellow in that house that she could barely be any type of proper.

“We are no stranger to clumsiness in this household, Rosemary,” An unfamiliar voice chuckled. It was deep and hearty. The man it belonged to stood and offered his hand. He was rather tall, and the blue sweater he wore somehow made him taller. Unsure of what to say, she shook his hand.

“A pleasure, I was so sorry to not have met you prior to today,” She smiled what she hoped to not be too much of a nervous smile. “It was rather late when I did…”

“I’m not usually called into work so late, but I’m glad to meet you today.” He smiled still, and gestured to the couch. He took his seat back down next to her aunt on the opposite couch. “Nymphadora has been telling us so many things about you it felt as if though you were a character in a very detailed fiction novel.”

As strange as the metamorphmagus was, she smiled anyway, registering it as a compliment, “Not a lot of interesting things, though.”

“A first year Quidditch player is very interesting, Rose.” Andromeda smiled at her. “Though I’m afraid what my husband is referring to is the volunteering you do in the hospital wing.”

“Oh!” No one really brought that up with her, though it was her favorite thing to do. “Well, it is rather uncommon for volunteers.”

Ted Tonks nodded, “Very uncommon, unfortunately, as I was the only volunteer myself in our school years.”

“Oh God,” Dora rolled her eyes. “Rose, you better run ‘fore you hear this story.”

“What—what story?” Rose frowned and Dora groaned.

“Romeo and Juliet met officially when Mum fell off her broomstick during a game, which Dad always calls his best memory, because she’d always been the most proper young lady until she started screaming forbidden words.” Rose snickered with Dora, “I’ve never heard Mum curse before, though.”

“A good point,” Andromeda stared at her daughter.

“Or maybe it was more of an Elizabeth and Darcy relationship—Mom wasn’t too particularly fond of Dad when they first met.” Dora snickered under her mother’s stare. Rose raised a brow.

“Wait really?” Rose asked her aunt. She rolled her eyes, re-crossing her legs and arms to stare pointedly at her daughter.

“I don’t see much of a similarity between Austen’s famed couple and us, but no, I was not completely taken by Ted.”

“It was a seven year plan, see,” Ted leaned forward to tell her. “I calculated that by the time she was in her seventh year, she would be in love with me when we first met. I was a year older than her, and she was very annoyed with my mere presence.” Andromeda scoffed behind them. “And it worked a lot earlier than I’d anticipated, she fell head over heels in love with me in her fifth year.” He nodded.

“Edward,” Andromeda warned.

“Alright, _I_ fell head over heels in love with _her_ in her fifth year, she only said she’d go out with me.” Ted corrected himself and Rose and Dora snickered.

“Alright, can we please not linger on those details, for my sake?” Dora shuffled, getting up.

“Right,” Andromeda, “Tell me, Rose, have you seen any Muggle towns?”

This question took Rose off guard, “Oh, well, um, no not really. I don’t really know much about Muggles—I do have a muggle-born friend who has dentists as parents, where they have, like, clamps and put metal on your teeth, but that’s all I really know.” She shrugged apologetically.

“First of all, no,” Andromeda started, directing her answer to the dentish thing. “Second of all, would you like to?”

“To…go to a dentist?” She asked. Obviously sensing her confusion, Andromeda rolled her eyes while Ted and Dora laughed,

“You have too pretty teeth, Rose,” She snickered. “Get in the car loser, we’re going shopping.” Rose stared in confusion. “It’s a movie reference.” This called for more confusion. “We aren’t going shopping we’re going to a parade. I should have made that more obvious.” Even more confusion. Everyone was staring at her,

“ _What_?”

                                              *****************************************

“So what’s a parade then?” Rose asked later. After asking what a car was, what the Muggle term of loser was and what a movie was, and everything she saw that she didn’t understand while they walked up a muggle street. The good news was that she saw many cars and had to stop many times to slow her excited heart. At some point, while Andromeda and Ted were chuckling at her amazement, she asked an apparently very dangerous question, “If I were to walk in front—”

“Rose, no.” Dora said while Andromeda put her hand on her shoulder and pulled her back, as if she didn’t trust her not to experiment to her curiosity.

“Well, it’s a sort of…celebration. For the New Year and all, there’s these big floats and decorations and so many people. You’ll love it, trust me. Here,” She handed Rose a little bulb attached to a long cord. Not knowing how to react, she took it into her hands, cupping it. Dora had the other bulb in her…ear? Rose stared in horror—what was she _doing_?

Dora caught her eye and smiled, “Sorry. Forgot purebloods don’t know about this. This is an eye pod. Spelled lowercase ‘i’, big ‘P’, lower case o d.” She explained, and then took the bulb thing out of Rose’s hand and gently took it to her ear. “It plays music.”

“Oh,” Rose thought for a moment, “So like a very small record player?”

“Sure, but you need to charge it and download music. I got you this last week—as great as the Weird Sisters are, Muggle music is just as great.” She handed Rose the very small and thin metamorphmagus slab thing. She passed her fingertip across the white circle and clicked down on it. “Listen to this,”

Music started playing, making her jump once but she met Dora’s excited eyes with her own, “Strange,” She said and Dora laughed,

“As many witches find iPods, yes,” As strange as it was, she cringed the entire time at its unnaturalness. They were strolling down a street, a little ways behind Andromeda and Tonks. Rose linked an arm through Dora’s as her aunt and uncle did and she heard a banging of drums from very near. Her curiosity grew.

And then she stepped around the corner and the street was filled with Muggles and in that moment, she was filled with a realization of how big the world was beyond the Wizarding world she had grown up in. Crowding the street, all the way down, as she could see, these people all had lives and all had grown up somewhere and all had lost something and for a shining moment, she thought she could see herself as one of them. She saw herself growing up with a fair haired mother, who brought her skating every Thursday and a father who taught her some muggle sport. She thought of many uncles and aunts to take her out on Sundays and of so many cousins who would chase her down in fields of grass and gardens. She imagined Draco, not as a twin but as just an older brother, helping her with her schoolwork. It sickened her, wishing she had something she would never have.

But as she imagined a different life, she saw Ted Tonks and Andromeda Tonks with their daughter, every Sunday, with visits to parks and museums and such. Her eyes stung and she drew her attention carefully back to the parade and the moment was over when Dora slid forward on ice patch, causing Rose to snicker but then she landed next to her in a fit of more giggles.

But as she slid, she found her leg went just a tad too far up, and though having recovered from the—agh, incident, it still pained her. She was unable to do ballet any more too intensely because of the pain of ripping in between her legs. As she slid, she cried out and gasped but was still laughing, to cover it up.

Dora, however, noticed the gasp and looked over, “You good, Mary?”

Rose nodded but was slow in getting up. She thought about telling Dora, just as seriously as she had felt the need to tell Hermione, but the words would not come out of her mouth, though they were waiting on her tongue. She trusted Dora—but no matter how youthful and fun and bright she was, she was an adult and would have to do something about it. The perfect Malfoy family would no longer be perfect should she end up tell Dora—or anyone.

“Do they do this every year?” Rose asked no one of their group in particular.

Andromeda hummed, “It’s a tradition in London, and in most other places,”

“America?” A nod. “Canada?” Another nod. “Europe?” A smile and a nod. “Are there other holiday customs?”

Her aunt nodded, “On Halloween, muggles dress up into costumes that are meant to be scary, but mostly just costumes of their choice. They go around neighbor to neighbor and ask for treats.”

Rose was in shock, “And they just give them treats? For free?”

She nodded, smiling, “I thought it was very strange when Lily told me this but it’s a custom, apparently. The saying is, Trick or Treat.”

“So they receive tricks as well?”

So the morning and afternoon passed nicely, whereas Rose asked questions of the Muggle world with three very helpful people to answer, all with different views; a pureblood who married into the muggle world, a muggle-born who grew up in the muggle world and proceeded into the wizarding world, and a muggle-born (being adopted from Ted’s family) who grew up in both. They all had colorful answers, such as what was a television, what was a phone, what muggle religion was (because yes, Rose was still mad at the fact that Camila was more educated than she). At some point she was very surprised to find that sign language and Morse code was a muggle inheritance.

“Hufflepuffs don’t have any sort of mandatory language but it’s pretty cool Slytherins have two extra languages.” Dora said when they entered a little shop that smelled heavily of something, “You drink coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Oh, you are a gem,” Dora smiled, “Hot chocolate?”

Muggle currency was probably the strangest of the entire day. Muggles were absolutely fascinating but _paper_??for _currency_?? Of all the things they were, idiots seemed rather expected.

“Rose,” Andromeda started when they sat waiting for the Hufflepuffs of the gang to get their drinks and croissants. French food at the moment really did not appeal to Rose. “I hope you enjoyed today,”

Rose nodded, a smile spreading on her face, “Absolutely, it was the best day ever, thank you so much for taking me.”

Andromeda smiled with a familiar set of dimples, “I’m very glad you enjoyed it. In all truth, I need a reason to want to bring you into the Muggle world, though you asking for help with the—erm, wailing woman situation, in truth I needed you to have a very, very fond memory, of the moment you enjoyed most of everything.”

Rose, at the mention of the wailing woman situation, leaned forward, eager for more. “Being, what we are, is a very dangerous thing, and will be more dangerous later on. It is possible that should a banshee become miserable or angry, they will conspire into a hostile and very dangerous spirit, losing perhaps all their humanity. These are the banshees that many glue onto our name and picture when they hear the word but those are not banshees. Those are the remains of the banshee when they lose themselves.”

“That’s horrible,” Rose muttered.

Andromeda nodded, “Because you are showing the signs of being a banshee so early, the only proper thing to do is to teach you how to maintain a more—lets say, healthy demeanor of yourself. Happy, the goal is, but just not…miserable. Let’s just call it our goal to be content and positive.” She paused. “There are works of magic that can help us, and I took to learning it when I was about your age and it worked, pun intended, magically.”

“Well, what is it? I’m sure I could do it,” Rose said, nodding to her and herself. Yes, she could do it. If Andromeda could do it, then so could she.

“Have you heard of the charm casted to protect people from Dementors?”

Rose nodded immediately, “The Patronus charm, collateral and incollateral.”

Andromeda smiled, “Very well studied, that’s good. Well, it uses and needs a very, very powerful feeling—happiness.”

“And that’s why you brought me out? To—to make sure I had a very powerful happy feeling?” Rose guessed, and then smiled, “Brilliant.” She could feel her heart quickening, “So—so you’re going to teach me to cast a patronus charm? Actually?”

“It won’t be a full result but just practicing your happy memory will be very good. And it will be risky—you cannot leave the grounds of Hogwarts and I am unable to come onto them—”

“What? Why?” Rose found this odd—she was _unable_ to?

“Long story, nothing to worry about,” Andromeda smiled, “But there is a map that we—me and my friends—left behind in Hogwarts. It’s called the Marauders Map.”

“Marauders? I’m sorry but what? You named your map the Marauder’s Map? Are you guys the Marauders? You named your group of friends?” Rose tried desperately not to laugh but ended up biting her tongue, snickering. “Okay, sorry go on.”

“Yes, well, we made a map of Hogwarts, and we left it behind. It should be with Argus Finch, the caretaker? You know him, yes?” Rose nodded, “I’m very certain that man has a whole drawer with just things he’s taken from the five of us.”

“So the Marauders? It was who? You, James Potter…Sirius Black? That’s only three, who are the other two?”

“Well, it was us three, Remus Lupin—”

“Werewolf McWerewolf?”

Andromeda froze, “W-what?”

“His name? It means Werewolf Werewolf,” She snickered. “Sorry again, continue.”

“Well, yes, him…and…Peter Pettigrew.” She paused, “Lily only joined half of us, friends with only Remus in our second year, me since our first and Peter halfway through third. It was only after fifth year, when she befriended James and Sirius, but that’s unimportant.” She shook her head, glancing to her husband and daughter, who were laughing at something on a—yes! A _television_! “I became friends with them myself during our second year and was given a nickname—codenames, if you will.”

“So you guys named your group of friends and had _codenames_?” Rose smiled once more, “Go on, please,”

“James was Prongs, Remus was Moony,”

“Werewolf McWerewolf was Moony? As in, moon? Pfffttttt,” She laughed until she was out of breath, “He’s definitely my favorite.”

“Yes, well,” Andromeda rolled her eyes, “Peter was Wormtail,” Rose grimaced, “Sirius was Padfoot,”

“Sure,” Rose nodded seriously.

“And I was—well, you are going to laugh, but I was Angel,” She sighed, answering Rose’s unspoken question, “There are many stories for the start of banshees, but mostly something about fairies and angels of death. I nearly killed James when he suggested Fairywings,” She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

“So, they knew that you were a…you know what?” She nodded. It was quiet for a moment, “I’m sorry…about James and Lily…I don’t understand why she came to me and not you….”

“Because she needs you to do something…besides, talking to your dead best friend isn’t…isn’t too healthy, don’t you think? It’s good to miss people, but hanging onto their memory like they are still alive is not good…” They were quiet once more, “Besides, she helped me with being a banshee, now she’s helping you with something that needs to be done…now I will help you with being a banshee.” She said quietly. “You go back to school soon, so we need to work on this closer to school, and I know a place, should you be willing to break some rules,”

Rose nodded immediately, “I read the rules before I break them,”

Andromeda snorted, “Don’t we all.”

Later, when they returned to the house just two hours before Rose’s parents would be expected back, Dora dragged Rose to a very strange bedroom, with posters of several musical bands and Hufflepuff prides colors painting the walls, and a strange box sat upon her desk, next to big, old looking books. “What in the world is _that_?” Rose asked pointing to the box.

“My computer,” Dora said simply. “So I looked through some libraries and such, and our library downstairs and I found some books on banshees—you know, extra reading and such.” She pushed the books off her desk and onto her bed, where one bounced harshly enough to bounc up and hit Rose in the chin. “OOOOH! That might be a sign, read that one!” Dora exclaimed excitedly, and Rose, grimacing in pain, grabbed the book and read aloud.

_“For many centuries, the wailing woman, also known as the banshee, has been seen as an omen of death—her scream warns of an impending death and, ironically, those who hear her wails and howls almost never survive._

_‘For those lucky witches and wizards that have escaped her screech, they are most likely of any candidates to identify the wailing woman, when, of course, she is not wailing. Many of her descriptions vary but most commonly, she is known to have dark red hair and long finger nails, wearing only a gray cloak over a green dress.”_ Now _that_ sounded familiar _, “In other descriptions, she’s known to have blood shot eyes, from eternal weeping, and silver hair streaming around her face like water. In many cases, however, she will appear with eyes of innocence, singing and watching over her family as she died young. In others, she will appear as a shrouded woman, crouched beneath the trees, lamenting with veiled face, or flying past in the moonlight, crying bitterly. And the cry of this spirit is mournful beyond all other sounds on earth, and betokens certain death to some member of the family whenever it is heard in the silence of the night._

 _Banshees are found amongst old families, as they range back to when the originally protected families had each a banshee. Some believe that banshees are those who are born into older families, and is sometimes inherited by the later generation of women in the family. It is said that many few family members of the sort have survived. Wizards and witches can protect themselves from her scream by using…”_ Rose stopped, “Hold on, how do witches and wizards even know this if there’s never been a banshee to write a book on themselves? How do we know if any of this is accurate?”

“Well, is it?” She asked Rose, raising her brows.

Rose tossed the book away, “Just the family part, I suppose but…” She picked up another book, “Has—Agh!”

It was a strange dizziness that settled over her as she dropped the book and clenched her hands in pain. Looking down, she saw a quickly disappearing shadow, seeming to empty from her fingertips. It was as if her fingers were being painted in the dark, black color and was slowly washing off, from her knuckles to the tips on the right hand.

Clenching and unclenching her hand, Dora asked, “Alright, Rose?”

Rose nodded, and Dora stared for a moment before throwing her legs over Rose’s ankles, making Rose cry out, giggling and trying to push her off. She only succeeded in freeing one leg. “Dora!” She squealed in laughter. Dora picked up the book she had dropped.

“So,” Rose gasped after trying to catch her breath, “How’s the metamorphmagusing? Is that a word?”

“Probably not, and,” Dora sat up from the armchair with wheels at the bottom—extraordinary!—then suddenly Rose was looking in a mirror. Rose gasped, “Merlin’s beard, Dora! That’s amazing!”

Rose _número dos_ sat up and flipped her hair over, “Hey you cut your hair,” Hearing Dora’s voice come out of her image sure freaked her out but she laughed at the comment,

“Yeah, I did.” Rose giggled, “It’s so—so accurate! That’s honestly amazing!”

“Yeah, well i can’t get the voice down just yet, so,” She turned back to normal (was there a normal look for Dora?) and extracted her long legs to cross them widely. “Moody thinks I’ll be able to graduate from training early with my ability by the end of the year.”

“And how is Mad-Eye—sorry, Alastor Moody?” Rose asked, seeing Dora’s quirked brow.

“Constantly vigilant—or so he claims. Very happy with my progress to say the least—I have now gotten onto his good side and it only took about seven months. I’m sure I’ll be his best friend by next September,” She smiled widely. “But for his classes, he’s gotten into the self-defense without a wand portion and it’s kicking my ass—sorry, arse.”

“Wandless self-defense? Teach me a move, can you?” Rose asked, getting up.

“Well, I suppose teaching it so someone else would help me learn it efficiently,” Dora said, before getting up and backing up from Rose. “Alright, this,” She showcased her fist, her thumb hidden under her knuckles, “Is a proper fist. Always with your knuckles and,” She moved Rose, turning her, “You should throw any punches so that your arms stay level with your shoulders. If you have your chin down and the punch comes out straight, the shoulder will rise automatically and further protect your chin. Throw out the jab but don't throw it too hard—it's a range-finder. Then detonate your cross.” She moved Rose slowly in example and then let her do it herself, “Try,”

Rose tried and Dora tutted, “Try with a more mobile shoulder.” Once more, in determination, Rose followed instructions and moved through the process with the air, “Nicely done. I’d say you’d make a great Auror if we train you up from now.”

“I want to learn how to fight,” Rose said, without filtering her words. “I want to know where to punch to make them hurt.”

“Woah, where’s this aggression coming from? Everything a’right at school?” Rose nodded. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’d just like to know how to fight—or just defend myself. Whatever.” Rose nodded to herself. “But mainly fight.”

“Well, alright…” Dora said, “Hold on.” Dora took her wand out and transfigured the mirror that was on the wall into a large, cylinder thing, “It’s a punching bag. Punch it.” Rose did and a sharp ache moved in her knuckle, but there were no shadows moving along it so that was probably good. “To throw a proper punch, picture someone you despise,”

“Snape,” Rose answer immediately and Dora snickered,

“I was under the impression that all Slytherins liked Snape, since he gave you guys points and all,” Dora said, pulling her sweater off. “What he do this year?”

Rose quickly explained about the searched for Nicholas Flamel that she and her friends were leading down a road of failure. “Rose, I highly doubt Snape is trying to steal something he’s probably protecting.” She said. “Besides, he’s too much of a hardass to try anything like that under Dumbledore’s nose. Apparently, he owes Dumbledore.” She said, stretching back her arms.  

“What do you mean?” Rose raised a brow, following Dora’s lead with the stretching.

“Snape was a Death Eater—you know, one of You-Know-Who’s followers.” She said casually. Rose eyes widened in surprise. “He had a big enthusiasm in the Dark Arts and was very against Muggle-borns according to Mum.” Rose thought about how much Snape seemed to detest the Gryffindors, and most people in general, save for herself and her house, but did this put him as a Death Eater? “The rumour is that he was always a spy for Dumbledore, though not many believe it since he was a big fan of the pureblood supremacists when he was a student. He was in mum’s class and year. They were friends for like two years, second and third year, but only because her best friend was friends with him. After a while, apparently she couldn’t stand him. Mum, I mean.”

“Really?” Rose gasped. She thought back to the times she’d catch glimpses of Professor Snape in her home, though it was just the back of his head and his black cloak that often was what she identified him with. He and her father were good friends during their time in Hogwarts, despite being a couple years apart. Her family had been under the Imperius Curse and forced into the inner circle of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, because both her parents had such high influential powers amongst the Ministry of Magic.

She didn’t believe it when people called her a Death Eater in the halls—it was a taunt she had gotten used to at that point. She did, however, remember when one of the Hufflepuff called her _family_ a whole bunch of Death Eater and she had added them into the weekly prank hit list. She was very enthusiastic over their prank—and she still does not feel remorse when the Hufflepuff student woke the next morning with warts covering her face and body.

Dora nodded, “They weren’t too good of friends. He hated most Gryffindors, though, is he still anti Gryffindor?”

Rose nodded seriously, “Very—he especially has it in for Harry Potter, though I haven’t the slightest idea why. I’m sure he and Harry have never met before this year. Andromeda was friends with James Potter—did something happen between them?

Dora stopped her stretching and bit her lip. Dora sighed and sat up, “Look, what I’m about to tell you is strictly between you and I and you mustn’t tell anyone I told you, because I have no evidence to prove its right.” She held out her pinkie finger. “Pinkie promise it.”

Rose still did not know what a Pinkie Promise meant but it seemed to be of the highest vows, so she held out her own pinkie and made a Pinkie Promise with Nymphadora.

“Okay, so you know that Harry’s parents met in Hogwarts?” Rose nodded slowly. “Well, mum and Harry’s mum, Lily, they were best friends, you know this, but before mum, there was Snape and they were best friends or something along the lines—but when he joined the Dark side…” She shook her head, her hair becoming darker. She did not notice. “It was not good for their friendship—it was apparently a big fiasco of fighting and curses and the rumour I heard when I was in school was that Lily had cursed him or something, I’m not sure.”

Rose gaped, “How do you know it’s true?”

“It’s not, mum was there.” She shrugged. “These are just rumours. I went to school for seven years before you, and many of the people who were in school with Snape and Harry’s mum have younger siblings they pass stories onto. Mum said it was a very bad situation, including her friends, Lily and Snape and stripping and racial slurs. After that, Snape and Lily never spoke again.”

That night, she thought of Lily Evans and Professor Snape. She’d always been told that Lily Evans and James Potter were very proud, irritating gits, by her father and mother, and that they deserved what had gotten to them. She tried not to think of her parents in a rotten light, but this seemed rather harsh, especially since they told Rose they were not fans of Voldemort. But then again, they easily could have lied, couldn’t they? They had used his name, after all. They used the title of Dark Lord, actually, but same difference.

A horrible thought washed over her…hadn’t only supporters called him by the title of Dark Lord?


	16. The Marauder's Map

Rose thought, perhaps, the first night she spent in the Slytherin common room with knowing the truth about why her nightmares were horrifying (what other possible reason could there be?) would be without any nightmares to wake her—or she could actually spend the night sleeping. Rosemary was terribly wrong.

Her dreams the first night back in the Slytherin common room consisted of another strange fixation of something but nothing familiar. She was standing alone in her dream and it was snowing heavily, a faint and distant song being played. It had a slow and sad tune to it, but in that moment, it was hopeful. She was grasping someone’s hand but when she looked down, she saw nothing. She felt the coolness of the snow around her and let go. She looked around but found nothing but graves. She walked forward to the one in front of her, and there, standing at the grave, was a young woman, just an inch or two taller than Rose. The red hair and green dress were a dead ringer, though Lily’s back was to her.  

She stared down at the grave and Rose looked over Lily’s shoulder to see the grave but no name. A statue stood for it, but she could not make it out, though she was standing just feet away from it. Lily’s hair was a dark red, and snowflakes landed it in, this was the only thing she could see. Someone was talking. “Hello, Rose,” Lily turned and before she could correct herself, she saw Harry’s emerald green eyes, bright and brilliant.

In her mind, she continued seeing the green eyes, but there was no Lily. There was only Harry.

Rose blinked several times to get the eyes out of her head, but every time she blinked she saw them again, behind her eyelids. There was Harry’s eyes, then Lily’s, then Harry’s then Lily’s…it was an endless limbo of both their eyes.

Andromeda’s words still bothered her—what could her aunt’s dead best friend want with her? Was it because she was her best friend’s mother? Or was it because she and Rose were similar with banshee abilities? This was all too confusing—and how was she to ask? Hold a séance? She didn’t know how to speak to the dead! The dead just—just liked speaking to her! Nonetheless, Rose was lost in how she was supposed to help Lily.

She tried to get an overall on what Lily wanted—and the only clear thing she wanted of Rose was to not have classes with Quirrell. For whatever reason, Lily was violently opposed to this extra study, so she thought it best to cancel them.

So, the day before the term started, the day she and all other students returned to Hogwarts, she made her way to Professor Quirrell’s classroom. She was practicing what and how to say what she needed but stopped when suddenly, an overtaking feeling swam through her veins and, like she was a magnet, started to walk heavily to the classroom, as if her feet were dragging her towards it. Her hands and finger tips tingling like when she had read the book on banshees, she cautious started slowly approaching the classroom door. She felt as if though she could not send the right message to her hand to knock and instead she turned the knob and peeked into the classroom. Finding it empty, she, once more without her proper permission, pushed the door open once more and walked in. She didn’t see any sign Quirrell was in there but as she this ran through her head, she heard something.

“You fool!” someone seemed to mutter. The voice was low and raspy and sent fire up Rose’s spine, feeling much too hot all of a sudden.

Frozen on the spot, she glanced around the classroom, hoping to find the source of the muttering. It did not sound like Professor Quirrell. She didn’t recognize the voice in her memories but found it sent her into a déjà vu state but could not put her finger on it.

Speaking of her fingers, they were trembling as she reached into her hair and pulled her wand out from between the pony tail and the elastic holding it up. She wasn’t sure of which defensive charms would do, and why she felt the need to pull out her wand in the safest place in all of Great Britain, but it felt like an instinct. Maybe it was the thought of being a banshee, but suddenly, dangerous possibilities opened—if she could be a banshee, then many things were possible.

She approached where she believed the voice to be coming from, carefully making sure her footsteps were not making a sound as she did so. Her wand held out in front of her, she came closer and closer to the door that led from the classroom to the office. The muttering was replaced by a whimper, “I’m sorry, my Lord, please—please have mercy.”

She craned her neck, hoping she was hearing properly. “The only reason you are alive still is because I am a merciful lord, and in need of your body.” The muttering continued. Rose’s brows furrowed in confusion. What in the honest name of Merlin was happening? “What of the girl, Quirrel?”

“She is outstanding, my lord, as I’ve told you. She knows nothing, but—” The floor under Rose creaked and she cringed, her heart racing. She thought she heard of someone shifting in the room but she had already streaked to the door, quietly this time, and was acting as if she’d just opened it to come in when Quirrell came out, seemingly alone. “Ah! M-miss Malfoy! What can I d-do for you, m-my dear?” He stammered and Rose, thinking quickly, dimpled sweetly. She noticed his wand in his right hand but another wand pocking out of his robe pocket. He moved to cover this when he saw she noticed.

“Um, sorry…professor, I should have knocked. I wanted to speak of the lessons you offered me, but if you are busy, I can come back—” She tried to excuse herself but to no avail.

“N-not at all, my dear!” He smiled nervously. “Please, do t-take a seat. I, myself, have been looking forward to this l-lesson and it would be f-foolish to abandon it.” He seemed ready to have a cardiac arrest, and suddenly Rose did not feel so confident in herself.

“Well, actually—wait, what?”

He took a steadily foot towards her, and she found her thoughts straying to the wand in her pocket. She thought she saw his eyes glance to her hand nearest to the pocket. “You must tell me at once should you feel uncomfortable with the lesson, as it is rather…hard.”

“O-oh?” She was the one who stammered. She was not one for stammering. She was loosing her grip—she had come here to cancel the lessons but now, it was…intriguing her.

“Yes,” He smiled and it was a different smile. “You are of the best in your year and would do brilliantly with this lesson many would fail with.”

“What is the lesson, sir?” Curiosity took over and she was starting to become suspicious of the lesson that was deemed _too hard_ for her.

“I’d like to have a practice beforehand.” He paused. “As a safety precaution.”

He paced around his desk and pulled out a blank piece of parchment. He gestured for her to sit in front of his desk and she pulled a chair up and sat. A look into the lesson couldn’t _hurt_ , could it? He folded the paper in half and pushed it to her, with a pencil. She didn’t even know teachers here had pencils. “Now, I want you to pick the pencil up and take to the paper.” She did so and waited for more instructions. “Draw me something.” Confused, she drew a circle. He seemed disappointed.

“M-my dear, for this to work, y-you must look deep inside your mind for something to draw. Something, may I suggest, that has been haunting you…perhaps in dreams.” He pushed. “Close your eyes and find it.”

This was beginning to be very, very strange but she closed her eyes and was now staring the green eyes she’d seen in her dreams. This was so weird…she started drawing the eyes, but was sure she was making squiggles, as she could not see where her pencil was going, but she continued. The longer she stared at the eyes, the clearer the image became—now the eyes were in a face, but she couldn’t see the face exactly—she did see, however, a frame around the person. When she finished, she opened her own eyes but Quirrell insisted she keep them closed. “Now, tell me. What have you drawn?”

She shrugged, “A picture—I think, I’m not sure.”

When he spoke he seemed disappointed, “Are you sure of this…?” She nodded and she thought she heard him sigh and she frowned. She hated causing disappointment. “Perhaps—perhaps it is a mirror?”

And then, she was drawing, “Yes—that makes more sense…” In her mind, she saw a mirror, a tall ornate mirror with clawed feet and a gold frame. Seemingly inscribed at the top were the words, _I show not your face but your heart’s desire._ She squinted but saw nothing in the reflection but a long shadowed corner. She could not see her reflection.

“What do you see?” Quirrell’s voice surprised her, for she, for a moment, thought she was seeing herself in the mirror.

“A-a mirror…definitely a mirror,” She said. She was seeing a mirror but where was her reflection? As she thought this, the shadows lightened and out stepped a familiar girl. 

She was clearer now, with her green dress that she could now see was specked with flowers and her hair matching the dark colors of the flowers. Her eyes were very familiar, and as was her nose, but other than that, Lily was perfectly clear but, suddenly…her hair was—what? Darkening?

“And what do you see inside the mirror? Who’s reflection?” She didn’t notice that her usually stuttering teacher hadn’t stuttered when he asked ever so eagerly. She only noticed when Lily raised one lavender nailed hand to her mouth to give her a gesture that told her to keep quiet. But then. She was no longer Lily but the closest thing to her—darker, messier hair, several inches shorter and a completely different facial structure. Harry was now telling her to be quiet. With the same hand which was telling her to not speak, he held something out to her.

“Myself, of course.” She answered without missing a beat.

“And what are you doing?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m with my friends…” Why had this been the one to pop into her head? “We’re laughing and…playing Quidditch.” Okay, yeah he’s going to obviously pick up the lie now. Harry held his hand out with something blood red on his palm, and then he disappeared and Lily Evans was back. She turned gestured for her to follow. She couldn’t. She was still standing in front of the mirror. Her eyes opened. “Professor?”

“Where was the mirror, Miss Malfoy? Where was it?” He asked quietly, staring her down. Frightened, she shrugged. “You must have seen where it was, any details at all.”

“I-I don’t know, Professor.” She looked down at the drawing. “It was dark.” The mirror drawing was just as it was in her mind, but without Lily in it. She was no longer lingering in her mind, but she found herself wanting to follow. Where would she lead her?

A long moment of pause before he stood, “W-well Miss Malfoy that would be all f-for this evening. T-thank you for stopping b-by.” The sudden stammering was a strange contrast now. He hadn’t stuttered at all before. He snatched the paper before she could and turned. “I will s-see you during our n-next meeting.”

She was out of their so quick, her heart racing, when she realized she had not cancelled. It’s fine— _its fine_ , she’ll just _not go_. It’ll be _fiiine._

She didn’t stop until she’d reached a far enough corridor when she could finally manage to stop and take a breath. She still felt sweat trickling across her forehead and found herself deeming very lucky that she got out, she felt as if though a mental breakdown would be happening in seconds. What could have happened had she not gotten out of there was forbidden territory.

Just as she took a breath, she heard laughs and taunts echoing down the hall. Her heart just about stopped as a sudden flashback took her back to before having waken up in the bathroom, of those boys and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe in that moment. She thought she might pass out had she not recognized her brother’s voice.

She walked down the hall and found her brother outside the library, with his two dumb friends, and Neville Longbottom. She saw Neville, desperately hopping away from Draco and for a moment, she was very confused. Finally, she realized the jinx her brother had put on the poor boy and fumed over to them.

“Draco, why must you be so mean!?” She huffed, taking her wand out to perform the counter jinx. Before she could utter the counter curse, she felt the wand being yanked out of her hand. Startled, she looked to Draco and found him taking the wand to his pocket.

“I’m just practicing—and Neville was here, very willing to help. Wouldn’t it be rude to refuse his help?” He snickered, and she held her hand out.

“My wand, Draco.”

“Let me think about tha—no.”

“Excuse me? I asked for my wand, Draco.”

“And I ask of you to not get in the way of putting stupid, fat Gryffindors in their place but yet, you still hang around them.” He crossed his arms. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell father about that stunt you pulled.”

“You’re lucky that I don’t have my wand,” She muttered, taking Neville’s arm and helping him up to the Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing when he entered the common room, toppling almost immediately to the floor. Bless her, Hermione was the only exception, leaping up and performing the counter curse.

Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron. Rose took a seat next to Hermione.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!" Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled. Rose scoffed.

"My brother is a twit, Neville, and won’t stop until you prove you can stand up to him.”

“You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron added. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out. Harry took out a chocolate frog from his pocket and gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said, earning Rose’s attention. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin." Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

Harry had not realized he said something insulting until he glanced at Rose, who was staring at him with her dark, midnight blue eyes. “What’s wrong with being in Slytherin?”

“What?” He asked, confused. He looked to Hermione but she stared at the floor.

“I asked you what was wrong with Slytherin? Why did you use _my_ house to insult _my_ brother?” She demanded, crossing her arms.

“Well—I mean,” Harry stuttered. “It’s just that…well you know.” He stammered desperately.

“What do I know, Harry? The fact that everyone demonizes Slytherin just because some people of my house made bad choices? The fact that eleven year old kids are forced to live with taunts from most houses, just because they were placed in the stereotypical house of evil? Or maybe it’s the fact that the first rule of being sorted into Slytherin is that you can’t be alone without an older student with you.” She stood up, glaring with cold eyes. “Gryffindor isn’t all that great. They further push the stereotype that Slytherins are all evil and have no positive evidence to present for themselves, using this reason to attack the first years, unarmed and having done nothing wrong. So, please, Harry, tell me exactly what I know because it doesn’t seem like I know all that much, huh?”

She waited and, stunned, Harry said nothing.

“The brave dwell at heart, huh?” Hermione stared up at her in shock and Ron was turning red. “Gryffindors who push the Slytherin stereotypes are cowards. Those with bravery dwelling at their hearts should stand up for those who don’t.” And with that, she turned and made her way out of the room. Several people near them who had heard, watched her go as well. Harry, though feeling ashamed and guilty, made no move to follow or apologize. Her brother was a royal git—if she didn’t want to admit it, then fine.

“What’s her problem?” Ron muttered and Hermione turned to him.

“She’s right—we have no idea how she must feel, being Slytherin. They are treated like villains, even the first years! Just because one—” She huffed, fuming in silence but made no move to leave as well. “Slytherins aren’t evil—she’s right. There are just so many pureblood supremacists—and her family—ugh, we should apologize. Harry should apologize—Harry?”

Harry, not knowing where to look, had looked down at the card Neville had handed him. _‘Dumbledore again,’_ he thought, _‘He was the first one I ever-‘_ He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione, the latter still angrily staring at the floor.

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here—listen to this: _'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'_!" Hermione looked up, a slight change in her eyes, an excitement that burned in them.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. "I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. At last she found what she was looking for. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Philospher's Stone!" This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" Harry and Ron said.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look—read that, there." She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philospher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philospher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

“See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher’s Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

                                

Rose was more than horrified to find that Camila Vidal had infiltrated Hogwarts. Rose only saw her once since the break and it was while walking down a corridor on her way to Charms—and there she was, with blue colors to symbolized her new house—Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw? Oh for the love of all magical beings, if Camila was cocky before she’d be now called Ravencocky rather than Ravenclaw. It now became her sole mission to stay away from that girl as smoothly as possible—which led to Rose hiding behind the Quidditch pitch, her one excuse being that she was waiting for the Gryffindor team after their final practice before their game against Hufflepuff after seeing Camila on the grounds in front of the entrance inside. And besides—she needed to talk to George and Fred—and was secretly hoping to give Harry an opportunity to apologize to her. George and Fred spotted her first, however, and went over to her.

“So, what is the queen of pranks doing out here?” Fred asked and she quirked a brow. “Oh, please, don’t pull the confused face on us. We know a branding prank when see one. That wart thing you did to that Hufflepuff girl? Has your name written all over it.”

“Well…” Rose hid her smile. “She had it coming.”

“She did,”

“Absolutely agree.”

“Anyway,”

“Harry’s around the corner.”

“Invite us to your next prank session—we have tons of ideas in need of a crazy genius.”

“Not including ourselves.”

As promised, Harry turned the corner. They had been keeping a radio silence, throughout the classes they shared. Hermione had shared his findings of Flamel, and after looking him up and giving a thorough background check, she found enough of her pride gone to seek him out after his practice. But she grabbed a hold of Fred’s arm before they moved too quickly. “Hold it. You two are in trouble lots, correct?” She raised a brow.

Fred glanced at her hand balled up with his shirt. “Right.”

“Why?”

“I need help getting something out of his drawer—it’s called the Marauder’s Map.”

Identical wicked grins spread across their faces, though she noticed a slight dimple on Fred’s right side. “Meet us in the Gryffindor Tower,”

“At eleven,”

“Come alone,” The said in unison and turned, with an ominous silence that made her stare after them in horror.

“So Snape’s refereeing.” Harry’s voice drew her back to reality.

The story Dora had told her about Snape hadn’t left her mind, but she was getting more and more distracted—with volunteering in the hospital wing, Quidditch practice, studying ahead and homework, with the additional notes for exams and the search for the Marauder’s Map, she was all around losing her grip—and her sleep. She hadn’t had a lesson again with Quirrell yet, and she was finding herself glad for it. The latter wasn’t that big a loss. Her nightmares were receding as she got more and more tired. She had fallen asleep in three different classroom that week. And, worst of all, no matter how curious she was about Lily, she had not seen her—nor had she told Harry about seeing his dead mom. He had gotten very quiet when she had given him Andromeda’s gift—which turned out to be his father’s snitch with a paper she hadn’t seen.

“It’ll make it a lot easier for him to put another hit on me,” Harry said and Rose rolled her eyes.

“You know, he may hate you but he probably doesn’t hate you _that_ much,” She cringed at her weak argument. “He probably isn’t trying to kill you.”

“That reassuring.” He rolled his own eyes. “He doesn’t hate me enough to kill me but he still hates me. Got it.”

It was true. Harry in Snape’s potions class was a whirlwind of critical comments and always picking on him. To Rose, however, Snape was growing more and more silent to her. He seemed to ignore her, but then grade her work the highest in the class. Should it be because she was a Malfoy, or a Slytherin, or the last person to be Harry Potter, she wasn’t sure but she wasn’t complaining. His lessons were becoming less and less hard and demanding. His homework was easy, especially for someone who had so much on her plate.

“Well, he certainly has it out for the Gryffindors.” She said, giving him the hint. He looked at her guiltily.

“Look, I didn’t mean to say the entire Slytherin house was…well, bad.” He started, turning red and looking away. “I just wanted to say that Malfoy was really putting…a bad name for the Slytherin house.” And then he cringed, as if hoping Rose wouldn’t call him out for offending her brother.

She sighed instead, “He is.” He looked at her. “The entire house has split into two—my side and his side. You can guess who’s on whose unproclaim side.” And, looking sad, she linked their arms as they made their way up the stairs. “Too bad.”

 

Fred and George were not in the common room at ten to eleven, but the common room was empty at that point. She waited by the fire, her head in her lap and her breath was starting to slow as she stared at her watch—and then, three seconds before it was eleven, Fred and George were down the stairs and standing above her. Startled, she looked up at them.

“Do you think,”

“You’re ready,”

“For the commitment,”

“For the honour,”

“For the Marauder’s Map?” They said this part in unison, and Rosemary rolled her eyes,

“How long did you rehearse that for?” She crossed her arms. “Why did you ask to meet at eleven? Why not earlier.”

“This, dear, dear flower child—”

“Flower child--?” Rose snickered.

“This is the secret to our success,” George continued.

“And we are sharing it,” Fred said.

“With you,” They finished together.

“This finishing each other’s sentences thing is cute. Do you two have twin telepathy or…?”

 “You and that git don’t?” Fred asked, and Rose smacked his arm.

“Well, you are winding me up. Do you have it, then?” Rose asked. As if trying to draw out the suspense, they slowly pulled out a blank, folded piece of parchment and she brightened.

“You must prove to us,” George started.

“That you can wield this weapon,”

“That you can carry this honor,”

“That you will protect this secret.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll protect it with my life,” Rose said hastily, and then took her wand out to tap it lightly with the words that Andromeda gave to her before she left her home, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that Rose’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment, then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

 _Miss Angel and Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present  
THE MARAUDER’S MAP

Her smile widened as the expressions on the twins face fell into shock, “You—you just—HOW DID YOU JUST—”

“Sh.”

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. It would have been impressive on its own, should she not have noticed the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Incredulously, Rose bent over it, examining them.

A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study, the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. She also could make out many of the general secret passageways, and she could only imagine that Andromeda must have been in charge of drawing out all the secret passage ways, being a Slytherin.

“Angel—Angel is my aunt.” Rose whispered, taking it all in and finding herself with a hoarse voice. This is her aunt’s legacy—she was a troublemaker, and a banshee, and was best friends with the dead mother of Rose’s best friend. She was the best friend of her cousin and his best friend and Werewolf McWerewolf Moony and of Peter Pettigrew. She adopted Dora, the second cousin of her to-be husband in the midst of a war because she was sure she could protect her.

“Bloody brilliant—tell me you take after her and we have ourselves a new recruit,” George grinned but she just kept smiling at the map.

“Can I borrow this? Just for a few days?” Rose asked, looking up at them. “I promise it will be in perfect shape and form when you get it back.”

“You are the closest thing we have to its rightful owner,” George said.

“Keep it as long as you need,”

“Besides, we’ve memorized it,” George shrugged. “You need it more.”

And with that, with the Marauder’s Map in her hands, she let one tear slip—because this belonged to her aunt and her best friends and her best friends are gone and no wonder why Andromeda cried at the mention of Lily. By the light of the fireplace, she quietly mumbled, “Mischief Managed.”


	17. Lily's Visit

Rose sat next to Hermione, and Ron occupied the seat on Hermione’s other side in the stands. On Rose’s other side sat Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. Rose, having practiced this jinx to perfection through instructions written to her from Dora, as she had with most minor jinxes, went over it with both of them—okay, no just Ronald. They—more so Hermione and Ron, because Rose did not believe anything bad would happen—planned on using the Leg Lock jinx on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

“Nothing will happen,” Rose tried to tell them. “Look, Dumbledore’s here. Anyone would be mad to try something while he’s here.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too. "I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told them. "Look they're off. Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Draco and Rose rolled her eyes. She had sent Freddie the snake out to steal her wand back the day he had stolen it and he wasn’t very happy at not knowing how she was able to slip things right out of his pockets. Little did he know...the thought made her smirk. "Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there." Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley? Without my sister’s help, he’s a goner.” Rose shared a look with Hermione.

Ron, smartly, didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. Rose was holding her breath, her eyes glued to Harry’s flying form, hoping to Merlin himself that she wouldn’t be tending to him in the hospital wing.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. Rose was finding Snape very frustrating now. "Its people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy. "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said,

"You tell him, Neville." Rose smirked, but her eyes never trained away from Harry.

“Draco, should you not shut your mouth, I’ll tell father that you were the one to blame.” She stretched out each of the next words. “ _Each of the times I covered for you_.”

"You wouldn’t dare, Rosemary.” He muttered. “Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something." Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry, this much Rose could feel.

“Draco, stop being a prat.”

"I'm warning you, Malfoy—one more word—”

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"

"What? Where?" Rose stood as Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up with her, holding Rose’s arm as Rose leaned forward, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy. Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape, pulling a very concentrated Rose with her. This was it! Harry would beat Hufflepuff, which would put Gryffindor in the lead and thus Slytherin and Gryffindor would have just one game left and Slytherin would lost, the cheating team of years (not including the year Cass had had his own team of non-cheaters so long ago).  She ignored Draco and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches—the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand. The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

Rose and Hermione were screaming in joy, screaming Harry’s name in triumph "Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" Rose and Hermione screamed something along the lines of this, though Rose was suddenly very aware of how piercing her scream was. Ouch to those around her. As she looked down at the field as Harry descended, she swore she saw a hint of green and red and—she started dragging Hermione down, though the girl was already set on running across the field.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes.

As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face. "Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping busy... excellent..." As he left, his friends reached him and Rose jumped him, hugging him immediately, and as she was small and jumping, she brought him jumping with her, feeling happier and like he could explode with the cheers around him.  

 

Before being able to join Hermione, Snape ended up following the trend and asking her for a word in his office. What with teachers and asking Rose to their offices? Was this some sort of trend? Oh, Merlin…She glanced back at the school grounds—she was supposed to meet with Andromeda….

“Miss Malfoy, I’d like to have a word about your extra mentoring.” He started, straight forward. Rose nodded. “Defence Against the Dark Arts, I presume?” Once more she nodded. He took her off guard with the next question. “As I am the head of your house, I must express a question of why you find it necessary to take extra classes.”

Silence coveted the air.

“Has the curriculum not met your expectations?”

“No!” She exclaimed, “No, sir it’s nothing like that. I just find that…I’d like to learn a couple of things out of the curriculum. I’ve been studying past my year for ages, I just find that extra classes would benefit me greatly.

“There are many summer programs efficient to those who yearn to learn out of the curriculum,” Snape pressed and she bit her lip, hoping against Merlin that she could sum this next part properly.

“Well, I believe I might just drop the classes, sir.” She cocked her head to the side. “I’ve only had one and they are…not particularly…”

Snape, caught off guard, looked down gravely at her. “Yes?”

She shrugged, “I’m not sure, they are quite random. He’s asking me to…”

His face contorted strangely, “He’s asking you to what? Miss Malfoy?”

She sighed, “To draw a mirror or something, what I see when I look into a mirror…” She shrugged, shaking her head. He looked even graver now, should that be possible. “But Professor…it’s sort of…strange, now. Our lessons, I mean.”

“Explain yourself, Miss Malfoy.”

“Well,” She ended up telling him about her encounter with him at his office before being asked to draw a mirror, and about the voice she heard him talking to. He listened, and at the end, he did not seem surprised.

“Thank you, for expressing this with me.” His eyes were cold, as was his voice monotonous. “It will be taken care of. And as your head of house, I am suspending your lessons with your Defence against the Dark Arts Professor. That is all.”

“But—”

“You are dismissed, Miss Malfoy.” Unable to offer anything else, she got up and saw herself out. On the way down the corridor, she heard a door bang and her heart leapt in her throat as she instinctively moved against the shadowed wall.

A dark, cloaked figure was emerging from Snape’s office and seemed to pass right by her, as if she were invisible. When she heard the footsteps echo farther and then become silent, she emerged and ran after Snape, not daring to believe he was not going to see Professor Quirrell.

She ended up making it out of the castle just in time to see the cloak closing in on the Forbidden Forest. She wondered if she should go after it, and decided it would be on the way to her destination. She ran after, keeping a short distance away and when reaching the forest, threw herself up into the nearest tree and started climbing, from tree branch to tree branch, high enough that she would not be seen. Years of ballet and gymnastics allowed her to swing her legs over higher tree branches and keep her balance.

She crouched when she heard voices, trying to hear.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all."

Rose leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?" 

"B-b-but Severus, I --" 

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell." said Snape, taking a step toward him. “I know of your infatuation with the girl and I want you to stop it.”

"I-I don't know what you…”

"You know perfectly well what I mean." 

An owl hooted loudly, and leaves fell over her. She looked up to see the edge of a broomstick. Squinting, she thought she saw black hair. “Harry?” She whispered to no one, hoping to be quiet.

Harry Freakin Potter looked down from the tree branch to look down at her in shock, ‘What are you doing?’ He mouthed.

‘What are _you_ doing?’ She mouth back but then remembered on why _she_ was there.

"-- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting." 

"B-but I d-d-don't --" 

"Very well." Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie." 

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Rose could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

Waiting until he was gone, Harry joined Rose on the tree branch, moving slightly to allow her space in front of him. She sat with both legs over one side before standing to look for Snape. He seemed to be gone. Rose then explained how she’d expressed some…concerns about Quirrell to Snape earlier, rendering Harry confused, “How come you never told us?” He looked up at her from where she stood on the broom.

“About Quirrell?” She questioned, looking straight ahead. “I got…distracted. And truth was—I thought I was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be surprising.” She muttered the last part. “Do you mind if you could drop me off over there?” She pointed out to the east, and Harry nodded silenltly. She slid her legs properly in front of him and they rode to where she need to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Harry,” She smiled and pulled her cloak tighter around her as she watched him worriedly fly away. She waited a minute before walking around a little while, the Marauder’s Map in hand until…

The Whomping Willow was much larger than she’d expected. Andromeda had told her the risk and she’d taken it—all she had to do was touch the knot at the base of the violent tree and she would be let through. Andromeda instructed to stay silent and in the shadows so, moving quickly, she skipped to the nearest shadow of the nearest tree and moved along the shadows, not daring to even breathe too loudly, watching where she put her feet. Slowly and slowly, she found herself at the base of the tree, amazingly having made her way through the shadows and—yes! She was able to slip through the tangle of roots into the trunk, headfirst and then she gasped as she slid down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. 

It was a peaceful silence that made her feel better about having to crawl in dirt. She kept her head low and found herself humming until suddenly, “Rose,” Someone whispered, causing her to trip over her hands.

“Lily!?” She gasped, glancing back. “What in—what are you doing here?!”

“Honestly, no idea how I’m able to, but here I am.” She was still in the green dress buther hair was slightly dirty with twigs and leaves. “I have no idea how to do any of this—but I knew you could see and hear me so I thought…” She shrugged. “I am sorry for scaring you, if I did.”

“No…just slightly, I suppose—Andromeda is just up in the house, if you want to see her…I don’t know if you can’t see her without a messenger of some sort…” Rose tried to fumble with her wand to create a lumos spell but found that her sight was still amazingly clear—right, she could see in the dark. You would think she would get used to that?

“She—she cannot see me…I don’t know how to…let her see me…” Lily was quiet. “But I do know you can help me with something…Did Andromeda tell you about—?”

“Being a banshee, yeah,” Rose rolled her eyes. “Seemed pretty obvious when I told her I could see her dead best friend.” Lily stared at her. “Sorry. I’m in a hurry.”

“Then this will be quick—Rose, Quirrell is not who you think. He has two wands—one of them is a yew, 13½ with a phoenix feather core. You need to steal it—I can’t really talk to you if you’re conflicted, it’s bad energy. I can explain more but I—I can tell you this much—my son’s life, and everyone’s, will be at stake should Quirrell get this wand to…to who I think his master is and I hope to God it isn’t who I think it is.” Lily suddenly stopped to look at Rose, “It doesn’t need to be a grand scheme, you can just tell another teacher—McGonagall, Professor McGonagall. Tip her off, tell her its something dangerous—she’ll know what to do.” She muttered. Rose suddenly put two and two together and realized Lily and Rose were on the same page—they both had no idea what they were doing or how but they were desperate. Rose stared at her until suddenly, Lily looked back at her. “Please. I am so sorry for asking you of this because—because you’re a child and you—you deserve to be a child for as long as possible but…”

Rose didn’t how to respond to this because, truthfully, she stopped believing she was what a child ought to be long ago. A hollow struck her stomach…she missed being a child, with her only worry being when she could next ride her broom. She looked away for a moment, feeling the sudden overwhelming emotion spiral out of her, and she felt herself for a moment slip into a drowning feeling of all of it. But then, she was able to find her lungs strong enough to breathe it out and the chocking, drowning feeling left. Staring at her watch as six minutes passed before she could look up with no recoiling pain in her chest but Lily was gone.

She took a moment to breathe deeply, and scanned the end of the tunnel she’d come from. Empty—and suddenly cold. Eager to get out of that tunnel, she took back to crawling down the tunnel until she found the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and it lightened through a small opening. 

She panted, leaning out of the room and standing, brushing off the dirt that had stuck to her cloak and robes while examining the room. _(A/N I know they are always referred to as robes and all, as I do refer to them as robes, but they are more like the movie’s uniform I guess, with the skirt and shirt, I’m gonna link a pinterest board for details I guess)_ It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up but wing howled against them.

The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. She peered into it, seeing perfectly into the dark corners of it and pursed her lips before tucking her wand out of her pocket and holding it steady in her hand, ready to use. Her eyes fell on a wooden chair near her and her eyes widened—large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely. Of all the places Andromeda wanted to meet…

At the thought of her aunt, there was a creak overhead. Something—someone had moved upstairs. She looked at the ceiling, and listened but nothing more. The hair on the back of her neck stood on edge as she listened but not another sound was let out other than the wind—which had begun to sound like people whispering. Quickly as she could, she crept quietly through the door into the hall and found a crumbling staircase. Everything she could see was covered in a thick layer of dust, where as her shoes where the only dents in the dust.

When she reached the dark landing, music began to play—a piano, it’s key lightly being strung. Of all places to keep an instrument, why a literal hole in the ground? There was only one door open and the music echoed from there, with a faint footsteps.

Rose peered behind the door, to see a dark figure with her dainty back to her, “Rose,” Andromeda glanced back at her, her dark, heavenly eyes so much like hers setting on her face. “I was worried you’d forgotten.”

“Not a chance,” Rose took a step into the room. There was a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings with a fire in a jar sitting on it, providing a light source neither needed. “But, of all places—why here?”

Andromeda cocked an eyebrow, “Heavily protected on one entrance by a tree not many know how to get past, and heavily rumoured to be evilly haunted on the other entrance. I’d thought it would be a good enough place. No one would think much about any sounds from here—the rumours tend to make up for it.”

Rose nodded along, “Fair enough.” She wondered if she should ask whether or not she planned on telling Rose how she knew of the places but the scratches on the walls and the tears in the bed warned her off it. “So—how do we begin?”

“Eager, are we?” Andromeda played another note, “No wonder you’re in Slytherin, hmm.” She turned, smiling. “Alright, this will be—”

“Difficult that not even seventh years get the charm done, and difficult because there are no Dementors around to motivate me, but really, I know.” Rose flushed, smiling sheepishly at her demeanor. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’ll be rather easier to know you are already studied in the charm. But it won’t be all we’re confusing on—remember, you won’t get the charm just yet. It’ll be long and hard to get it and very frustrating—but you will get there if you want to, genuinely want to.”

“I do,” Rose nodded, serious now.

Andromeda smiled faintly, “Then let’s begin.”


	18. The Patronus

“What’s that?” Rose asked.

Andromeda had dropped to her knees on the dusty floor to look through her bag for something—when she had found it and pulled it out, Rose was rendered completely confused. “Headphones—“ Andromeda explained. “Muggles use them to listen to music from iPods.” That didn’t seem right—her headphones, gifted to her by Ted, did not look like that. The ‘headphones’ her aunt held in her hands was larger and looked more like a—like a headband with strange circles one either end.

 “My earphones don’t look like that.” She stared at them. Andromeda smiled,

“Yours are earbuds, or more commonly known as earphones—this goes over your head, like a headband, while earbuds hang off your ears.” She handed them to Rose, “They will cancel out any noise, making it a lot easier for you to tune yourself. Slide them on like a headband.” Andromeda insisted and Rose tried to do as she was told, but found the headband music player a lot stranger than headbands. “Brilliant. Now, tell me what a Patronus Charm is.” She turned back to her bag, rummaging once more. Confused, Rose recited,

“A Patronus charm is a kind of guardian against Dementors, that acts as a shield between the caster and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon—hope…and happiness, the desire to survive—Dementors drive you to hopelessness, making you literally forget all the reasons you want to live. The Patronus is capturing and projecting all the reasons you want to live for.”

“And how does it work?”

“By using a very, very happy memory to help you concentrate—Andromeda, I thought you said it was good that I already studied this charm? Why am I reciting it?”

“So you can get used to the feeling of silence and focus,” Andromeda popped back up, her hair bouncing and she held out a book. “Drop the book.”

Rose followed instructions and dropped the book. There came no thunder she was expecting from the colliding of the heavy book and the wooden floor. Thinking it hadn’t somehow reached the floor, she looked down to see that it had indeed fallen to the floor. Confused, she looked up and Andromeda was nodding, “Good.”

And then Rose realized that the only sound she could hear was the very clear octaves of Andromeda soft spoken voice and she, confused, stomped her foot. Not a sound, “Uuuuuuuh…” She looked at Andromeda again, and Andromeda read the confused lines of her face like a children’s book from her childhood.

“The headphones completely block out any sound you would normally hear, should you be an ordinary human—but because we are banshees, our whole being revolves around the fact that we are able to live in different planes of this world.” She said, but this made Rose more confused.

“I thought banshees only just warned against death—that’s what I felt when that man died. I didn’t—I don’t know, hear anything otherworldly, I just started screaming. Isn’t that what banshees do?

“You felt the weight of his death,” Andromeda said. “And if you want the truth, all creatures like us are of different planes of otherworldly—werewolves react to the rays of the moon but not the ocean waves the moon creates. Why? Vampires only react to wooden stakes but not any other sorts of human weapons. Why? We, as banshees, are just as complex, just as colorful and mysterious. Why is it we can smell murder but not the murderer? Because we haven’t felt the weight of the murder to allow us the vicinity to scream—and the scream isn’t our most powerful ability, though I’ll teach you the proper scream when the time is right. The scream allows us to tune out the entire world of sound and thoughts and lets us focus on one thing and one thing singularly—the death of whom we wail for. But yet, death sings in our nightmares, scratch our skin into bloody messes and all we get as warnings are clues—sounds, feelings, images—we have all the warnings.”

“We have the warnings…but?”

“But?” Andromeda frowned.

“But why don’t we use them?”

Andromeda sighed, taking Rose in. “Because most of the time, we miss the warnings. Whether they are sounds, images, feelings, most times we dismiss them as tricks of the minds—unfortunately, many go insane with them, because they are convinced they are mad.”

“So—what? I have to make extra sure that I’m paying attention?”

“No—you aren’t understanding. Our entire beings are built on the fact that we can predict—we can’t depend on it solely because it isn’t going to kick in. We have no control on whether or not it comes out, sometimes we have to search it out. I am going to help you channel it, to be able to recognize it and to find a way to trigger it.”

“And that starts with a Patronus Charm?”

“You have to arm yourself before facing a war, Rose,” She smiled. “You’ll understand and—I hope you’ll never need to use this for personal reinforcement.”

“Personal--….?” Rose muttered but it seemed like their conversation was over for the moment when Andromeda took her wand out,

“Now, every Patronus is different, while in corporeal form. Many of those who have difficulty with casting a corporeal tend to cast an uncorporeal, which isn’t as powerful but is useful still.”

“What’s yours?” Rose asked curiously, then realized that was rude. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Andromeda laughed, a welcome sound in the most nightmarish of places. “A crow.”

“A crow?” Rose asked. She was picturing something amazing and graceful—an eagle, maybe, but…a crow?

Andromeda hummed, “Fitting, no? It’s said to always symbolize an omen of dark changes. And,” She smiled at her, “The crow is very resourceful, ambitious, and cunning. It’s really goal oriented and fearless, so really, it’s the Dementor that should be scared of it. Anyway,”

Rose had been frozen to the spot, afraid to say anything that would cause any backlashing but she found it fitting too—in ancient Greece, the crow was a symbol for prophecy and good luck. She learned this when asking Hermione about what religions there were in other European cultures, which lead to a lesson on the Mesopotamians, and then the later cultures and then the Ancient Greeks and the religion they held of multiple Gods and then an extra lesson for each God—apparently, prophecy was a big thing for them. So far, Persephone, Athena and Artemis were her favorites.

"Alright,” Rose pursed her lips in exasperation—she was still waiting for some actual castings. “And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation,” Andromeda said. “But only after picking a powerful memory that you concentrate on with every might of your focus.”

Rose was glad Andromeda had taken Rose into the Muggle world—she couldn’t think of any other good enough memory. Wow….that was saddening. Had she really not been happy all year? All her life? Her first broomstick ride had been amazing and exhilarating but…she’d been concentrating so hard to please her mother she had barely enjoyed it…and the skating, she had fallen right into the lake. That was certainly not too good. “So that’s what we’re focusing on?”

“Mostly,” Andromeda nodded. “But I will have you say the incantation and cast the spell, at least to see whether or not your memory triggers anything.”

Rose nodded, focusing on the memory she’d had prepared—the one of the muggle town. “Got it.”

"The incantation is, and repeat after me," Her aunt cleared her throat. "Expecto patronum!"

"Expecto patronum, " Rose repeated and dimpled. “Expecto patronum."

“That’s very good—always be sure to say it nice and loud and strongly. Keep it from becoming monotonous, this will weaken your concentration.” Andromeda said. Rose nodded. “Now, focus on your memory and we’ll give it a try.”

Rose quickly directed her thoughts to the muggle town—the lines of the memory were faint but the feeling of understand how big the world was was stronger than ever—and she called out, “Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened. She glanced at her aunt in fear, but her aunt smiled. “Very well with your projection! You won’t get it on the first try but I wouldn’t be surprised if you accomplished it soon.”

“Should I—?”

“Yes, go on. Have some chocolate afterwards, though.” She said, stepping back.

Once more, Rose recalled her memory and found her voice, “Expecto Patronum!”

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas and she gasped, dropping her wand, “Did you see that—oh! I’m sorry, oh merlin, I’m so sorry!” She sickly picked up her wand, a heat of embarrassment and guilt washing through her.

Andromeda, however, was beaming. “Don’t be, that was an excellent first try! Well done, Rose!” Andromeda dimpled and slowly, Rose realized she wasn’t being chastised and smiled too. “Very good memory, then?” Rose nodded. “Well, I’d like to keep your focus on it. Here, this will help,” And she offered her a cookie from a little clear and stingy bag, “It’s plastic.” Rose nodded, but took a cookie and relished in its warmth. “Chocolate helps with everything.”

The words took her back to Neville Longbottom handing her a pack of hot chocolate powder and she couldn’t help but agree, though what he was offering the chocolate for help for really didn’t help. Again, like word vomit, she wanted to tell Andromeda what the boys—had done to her—that they had hurt her but…but guilt and shame filled her and she felt suddenly like the entire star system lay on her own dainty shoulders. Maybe she really did need to use happy memories more often—too bad she didn’t have too many to rely on.

                                                     ******************************************

Tired and confused, Hermione took advantage of Rose’s state of mind and bombarded her with questions when they met up again later that night about what she’d seen in Quirrell’s office.

“I don’t really think its Snape…not like anyone. Sounded more like a snake, really light and breathy…” She mumbled. If anything, there was more evidence against Snape than for him.

Hermione looked at her in confusion and Rose realized what she just said, “Not that I talk to snakes,” Se chuckled nervously, “Just that I really don’t think he’s the one doing any of this.”

She’d forgotten all about what Lily had told her before meeting with Andromeda and now she could only regret not telling her aunt about it—but she could only wait until the next week to say anything. Telling your aunt about her dead best friend talking to you wasn’t too great material to put on parchment.   

Waiting for the next meeting, she had lots to think about—about what Lily had said about Quirrell. She could only ask herself what anything meant about his ‘master’. She couldn’t imagine who his master could be that would be so terrible that she hoped it wouldn’t be him. She thought about the voice back in the classroom and shuddered. Maybe it was Snape..? Maybe they were right—maybe Snape really did want to steal the stone, but right under the headmaster’s nose? And then Rose thought—maybe Dumbledore was inherently evil and he was his master? She knew how her father spoke of the headmaster but that didn’t make any sense—it just didn’t. Besides, what was Quirrell doing in the Forbidden Forest? Could he have been going to see Hagrid and seen Snape and fled? Did that make any sense? Or maybe…

It was hard to put together, but maybe Quirrell was the one trying to steal it and Snape was intimidating him out of it…but why would Quirrell steal it? This brought Rose right back to where she started. And the wand made of yew was not helping at all—and she couldn’t fathom a reason why—or a way—to steal it. She was definitely feeling conflicted, because she couldn’t find Lily anywhere—she also couldn’t the find the courage to tell Harry she’d been seeing his dead mum. How do you even start that conversation? Well, until she could figure any of this stuff out, she wasn’t going to be un-conflicted, and until she wasn’t un-conflicted, she wasn’t going to see Lily, and until she wasn’t going to see Lily, she would not steal that wand. Especially not from a teacher.

In the weeks that followed, it didn’t seem as if though Quirrell was all that well anymore. Rose was sure the stone had not been stolen and that whoever was being pressed had not confessed, but Quirrell had become paler and thinner, obviously in fits of anxiety.  Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Rose, Ron, Harry and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside.

Snape was brooding in his usual angst, so it was enough clue to guess that the stone had not been stolen. Rose, with her doubts, refused to theorize about Snape being the one who was trying to steal anything. It just didn’t seem likely—that voice in that classroom was not his. Or maybe it was—she didn’t know but without evidence in full context, she would not believe it. Sure, Snape had confronted Quirrell but that meant he was not the one in the classroom. Her best guess was that someone else, someone out of the picture, was forcing Quirrell’s hand. Maybe Snape was trying to get to the stone to…protect it? It was a weak argument but she stuck by it.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher’s Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color-coding all her notes. Harry and Ron found this incredulous.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me....” She looked over to Rose, who’d been lost in her thoughts.

Andromeda had finally allowed her to start attempting the charm more physically, getting Dora involved by dressing up as a Dementor—it was Dora’s idea but she refused to not help. It was very nice of her, to give her the imagery, but she hadn’t been able to perform it yet but she felt herself growing fonder of trying. It was progress if she didn’t pass out afterwards. She was allowed to practice alone but not to strain herself—should she pass out, and any of the school staff checked her wand, how would she explain her trying to cast the Patronus charm?

“And when do you plan on studying?” Hermione asked her.

Rose pushed her newest notebook to Hermione and showed her the neat, color coded notes, topics underlined and fresh flash cards, all ideas of studying given to her from Dora. The studied together sometimes, while she taught her to fight. Every move was given with a question. She didn’t tell Hermione this, however, “We have collective homework periods in the common room every night and the entire common room studies together.” She bragged with a dimpled smile.

This much was true, thought she refused to tell her she’d been accidently learning about the second year’s exam topics. “We started studying a month ago—the seventh years are all depending on some strange drink with caffeine in it and are all running on low sleep but they are very determined and you know what happens to Slytherins who are determined, don’t you?” Her smile widened as she rolled her eyes.

“Mhmm.” Hermione huffed, but still seemed a little jealous that the entire common room had something called homework periods. She smiled to herself in triumph—maybe Gryffindor house wasn’t the best after all…

Unfortunately, as if sniffing out the anxiety amongst the students, the teachers gave them the most homework during the Easter holidays that they were not as nearly as fun as the Christmas ones. It was much too easy to get through them, when Rose knew she would have more time to practice her Patronus charm if she finished them early. She ended up finishing them the second day and was focusing on the proper wand movement, though Hermione did not question her on what she was doing as she kept reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements of her own. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with them, trying to get through all their extra work. Rose helped where she could, but they were not very good at helping themselves.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. The sky was a perfect clear, forget-me-not blue, the first they’d had in some time and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Rose, who was looking up making circular movements with her wand (as the charm asked for) ignored his whining, thinking instead of what her Patronus would be. She hoped for something that could fly—that would be interesting. And matching with Andromeda would be amazing too. Suddenly, Ron exclaimed "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Rose said, waving him off and once more going about the charm movement.

Ron added, "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Philosopher’s St --"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy --"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh --"

"See you later, then," said Harry unhappily.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully, looking away from her notes. "Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. Rose ignored them once more, finally getting used to the movement. She was sure she could be able to perform the charm properly in some time. She had only managed an incorporeal Patronus but she felt like she could do better. She jumped when Ron came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry as Rose asked, “How do you know all that?”

“MY brother’s studying dragons and of course there are," Rose said. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget. There’s a rumour that a dragon is protecting the lower leveled vaults at Gringgotts, but my father won’t ever let me down to actually see it.” Rose said thoughtfully. “Barbaric, though. Keeping a dragon locked up underground.”

"So what on earths Hagrid up to?" Hermione asked.

Rose found herself once more alone as she had bid them goodbye and was now looking for something to do. She thought, maybe to put the Marauder’s Map into use and find the kitchens—the Slytherin common room was too faaaaaar and she had secrets tunnels to find.

So she was only just sitting alone in the courtyard, her knees tucked under her, the sky blue as her eyes and cool as her hair, with a nice breeze keeping her company. It was peaceful, knowing she didn’t need to worry about practicing too much on her Patronus charm. She came to find her mother and her aunt were very different. Both very adoring of her, but Andromeda was much more patient with her work.

She kept her comfort and safety first in line of her priorities during their meetings. When she gave a sign she found the room very uncomfortable what with the dust and cold, she made it a little warmer and gave a sign of life with just a few candles that smelt like vanilla and flowers and many blankets to relax on and just remain peaceful and speak. Cookies were provided essentially, because apparently it was a hazard should chocolate not be involved. “Ted’s a doctor—a muggle healer, and its doctor’s order, love.” She would tell her.

Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a call—a whistle and then a whoop. She looked up to see, with a cold drop in her stomach, the boys. Yes—the boys.

She felt her face flush in embarrassment, and they whooped again, “Nice legs blondie!”

Her face burning and her heart beating in her throat, she was ready to get up when suddenly, a tall duet of boys suddenly popped up behind her from inside the corridor. “Hey, Walker, ever feel the wrath of a Weasley?” Fred’s voice shouted across the courtyard.

“OOooh, you got a boyfriend?” Was the response and she was burying her face in her hands when suddenly a new voice called,

“Leave her alone, Walker, or don’t you remember how long you couldn’t smile?” She peeked up in surprise to find Cedric Diggory glaring across the courtyard. When there wasn’t a response, she glanced over to find that the boys were shuffling away, with a loud call of, “Asshole.”

Cedric glared until they were gone from view and then he looked down at her. George and Fred had already flagged her with a worried questions and a suggestion to go after them, “No I’m fine, really.” Then she looked up at Cedric and smiled gently, “Thank you, Cedric—you didn’t have to.”

He slid next to her, to face her, “They deserve it—what?” He smiled and then his angry demeanor was gone, “Surprised a Hufflepuff says something bad about someone?”

“No,” But she was blushing, so obviously he could tell. He turned his attention to the Marauder’s Map laid in front of her, unopened however. She was getting ready to put it in her bag that she must have forgotten to close it.

“What’s this?” He slid it closer to him turning it to read it, “The Marideer—”

She yanked it quickly out from underneath his fingers, looking quickly for any of her Slytherin house members and found a tight little group of fifth years from her group of friends, Edie included. “Sorry, must be on my way.” She slid off the post and started walking quickly towards her house members, before glancing back to say, “Thank you again!” She turned too quickly to see the confused look Cedric kept as he stared at her walking away and the grins passed between the twins.

“Was that Cedric Diggory?” Eddie questioned her, peeking over. “He’s cute, isn’t it? Not my type, obviously not, but…”

She couldn’t help zoning out.

It was hard to ignore, now that they’d come after her again directly. Sure, they’d taunt her in the halls, but she was quick and they couldn’t touch her and besides, she was sure they thought she was some other blonde girl. The nightmares finally stopped coming after she distracted herself and tired herself out but she was losing sleep over the anxiety that built because of them. The anxiety was the one thing that she couldn’t erase, even after the physical reminders were mostly gone as long as she didn’t look for them. 

She found herself sometimes frozen in her seat, her hands shaking slightly. It hurt her, physically, with that she knew was anxiety. There wasn’t anything she could do discreetly without raising questions so she had to live through the painful turmoil that built in her chest gradually. Sometimes, it built and built and built and at points, she couldn’t get out of bed. She forced herself, because what could she do? What would people say? Lucius Malfoy’s daughter…She couldn’t allow something she did not know happened for sure tint their image.

But the anxiety built, and it built and it built and she couldn’t breathe properly at times but she couldn’t just stop breathing. It was an endless game of chess, her moves always been checked. She wasn’t going to win, and she definitely wasn’t going to survive with all the pieces.

Only Hermione saw something off about her later, when they later filled her in about what they encountered in Hagrid’s hut. Someone had almost stolen the Philosopher’s stone from Gringotts the day Harry had gone to purchase his school supplies, on his tenth birthday (she made note of the date, July 31st,). Several teachers were helping guard the stone and she found it unsurprising that Snape had been one of the four, but more anxiety filled her when they told her Professor Quirrell was also protecting it. Dumbledore, too, was helping but she hardly found this comforting.

It was, however, comforting to know only the headmaster himself, as well as Hagrid, knew of how to get past the dog. She had searched and done a background check but nothing came up for the three headed dog other than Greek myths—Cerberus guarded the Underworld, and Hades. The Greek hero only got past the dog with slaying it and she was sure no one was willing to slay Fluffy.

“Rather lucky, isn’t it?” She commented when it was only she and Hermione left in the library. Hermione’s face was pale, however.

“Not until you hear this,”

Hagrid had an illegal dragon egg, having won it from a game of cards the night before with a stranger. To quote Hagrid, Hermione said, “Think he was quite glad to get rid of it, to be honest."

“Then I asked him what he plans on doing with it when it hatches, and he says he’s been reading some dragon book about breeding for pleasure or profit or something along the lines of and he says he’ll be feeding it a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour once it would hatch. He has it over his fire place and oh, what if he gets caught?!”

“What type of dragon did he say it was?” Rose muttered. Hermione threw her a look of exasperation.

“Does it matter? It’s illegal!” Rose said nothing but waited and Hermione said through gritted teeth, “Norwegian Ridgeback."

“Rare.” She hummed and frowned. “Why would a stranger be carrying a rare dragon egg and just give it away? Do you reckon they didn’t know its worth?” She asked.

The library was darkening as the two girls spoke, and it became quieter and quieter. They would need to head their own ways. “It’s also illegal to have any sort of dragon, anywhere in a densely populated area! And Hagrid knows this so where does he bring he egg?” Rose knew better than to answer Hermione when she vented. “A SCHOOL!” She kept tapping her fingers and for one, horrifying moment, it sounded like the tap of water, dropping into a sink. A sudden anxiety filled Rose, like a balloon, and she froze, her breathing suddenly becoming shallow and fast. Hermione took notice of this, unfortunately. “Rose?”

Rose, not understand what was happening, placed her palm to her chest and found it rising much too quickly. Hermione watched, concerned and tried to reach her hand out. Her head was spinning and Rose felt her vision divide with water and her chest moved painfully.

She did not remember when Hermione had wrapped her arms around her but it didn’t take long for her arms to tighten and at some point, her breathing was slowing and Hermione’s hand was pushing the sudden hair out of her eyes and whispering, not spells, but little stories, about the bird she had a small child and how it flew away and how she’d always wanted a cat. Rose was now only keep rigid breaths but her head was against Hermione’s chest and she smelt like lemons and sour candy and she was so, so tired.

 

When they did end up going their separate ways, Rose felt so unbelievably tired that she had not realized there were plans she had not foreseen. Footsteps following her into the dungeon was sign that she didn’t catch and she felt completely idiotic. She turned to see the same damned boys who ruined her life and started walking backwards, her wand in her hand, her head suddenly a lot more alert. “What? Couldn’t get enough last time? Slut,” The boy in the middle said and the other two laughed. “Got to admit, you were good. But getting Diggory involved—unacceptable, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Unacceptable.” The one on the left grin, “Why don’t we have some fun? Teach you a lesson, teach good-two shoes _Dick_ ory, it seems, to keep that ugly, whore-mouth of yours shut.” They were approaching her faster. “You’re asking for it anyway, you whore—”

“Expecto Patronum!” She cried, but nothing happened. Of all the spells to cast? The one she knew of that she couldn’t perform? Was the one she said? Really? And where the hell were the prefects and head houses that were supposed to be patrolling the halls?!

Her mind was blank—she needed something happy. Something happy—legit anything happy. She remembered her mother tucking her hair behind her ear and telling her it was alright to be sorted into another house, “Expecto Patronum!” She tried once more but nothing happened and the boys laughed once more.

“Come here, bitch.” And she skipped once back to miss his grab at her and then her mind exploded in warmth as she remembered her aunt’s tight embrace and the smell of lemons of Hermione’s tight hug just earlier that day and the feeling of being stood up for and she burst with energy,

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

And out of the end of her wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist as had usually happened, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. She squinted at it, to make it out. It looked like a bird—yes!—but it had talons. It was floating but swarmed at the boys, who yelled and ducked away from her, to the floor. The eagles gave a long cry, and she flew away from it, falling to the floor, on her back and butt. She stared up at the eagle, infatuated by it as it continuously flapped its wings against the boys, sending out waves of silvery light to them, as they screamed. In amazement, her Patronus disappeared, leaving her alone with three, paralyzed boys. Without needing to miss a beat, she stood, picking her bag and ran in the other direction as fast as her legs could take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As strange as it is, Rose does cast a Patronus charm the same chapter she first attempts it, but there is a time gap between the attempt and actual casting so...
> 
> Leave me comments and ideas, I love reading your thoughts!


	19. Lily Again

Rose was a lot happier and it worried Hermione.

Hermione did not ask about the worst revelation of that day, but kept a close eye on her, watching her when she raised her arm to tuck hair behind her ear or to grab her wand from her hair. She kept her eyes primarily focused on her eyes, and when Rose looked away from something quickly, Hermione followed her gaze and searched for something that might have caused her trouble. She, of course, did not seem to suspect the three boys along the Gryffindor table that now kept it a habit to glance at her, nor did she know anything about Cedric Diggory always seeming to catch her eye. She was sure he was wondering what sort of nutter she was, having checked out—stolen—a library book on banshees and then proceeded to run from him after he—and the magnificent twins—saved her from what she came to learn were catcalls. Not to mention, he was the only other person, other than Hermione, to know she had an illegal pet inside the school.

Rose tried to keep as much of herself out of the dragon situation with Hagrid, though she did volunteer to watch her brother, as apparently he might have over heard a thing or two of the dragon. Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous and she watched him for them, when they could not. It was best, however, to keep herself oblivious,

“What are you smirking at, you prat?” She asked during homework. He continued smirking like the prat he was. “Draco? What?”

“I have some more news on how to get those three friends of yours out of this school.” He said simply, obviously baiting her.

She rolled her eyes, “Honestly, Draco, can’t you just keep to yourself about them? I would have a lot to say about your friends,” She nodded to Crabbe and Goyle, who were trying to spray themselves with the fountain in the common room, a little ways away from them. “But I keep to myself because I know they are your friends.”

“Oh please, that doesn’t count when I know just as well how idiotic they are.” He rolled his eyes and Rose sighed.

“Can I at least warn them, should you try anything?” She saw no other way at playing the middle man, picking up her quill once more.

“Won’t do ‘em any good,” He mumbled, turning to his own parchment. “What in the name of our father is a—?” And they returned to doing homework.

 

The next time she saw Andromeda and Tonks, they were both still in their Auror uniforms (Dora’s slightly different to show her in-training status), which shocked Rose. “I didn’t know you were an Auror!” She gasped, giggling at the uniform.

“Yes, well,” She rolled her eyes, “We have time to talk about my career choices,” She smiled very widely, “Well, cast her, Rosemary.”

Her eagle flew proudly across the ceiling of the dusty house, swooping in under tables and landing on her arm, before disappearing. She used the memory of Hermione’s warm arms once more and the smell of lemons kept still in her mind. “How did you cast it with no Dementors around?” Dora asked but then paused, “Well, maybe having Dementors around would make it worse—they terrify you and suck all the happiness out of you like a newborn baby with its mother’s—”

“How did you cast, Rose?” Andromeda asked over Dora’s talking and she stopped.

She hesitated, “Well, I kind of accidently…” She blew air out in a nervous pause, “I did it in front of three Gryffindors.”

They were silent, “Why?”

She bit the end of her tongue, “Because they were…sort of—bothering me.”

“ _Sort of_ bothering you?” They exchanged looks. “Were they bothering you, or were they not?”

“Yes, they were.” She said, her voice quieter.

“Bothering you how, exactly?” The question took her off guard—she bit her lip.

“Well…” She looked away, hoping to come up with something that didn’t sound too harsh but harsh enough that she would need to defend herself.

“Rose, this is very important, alright?” Rose nodded, “Did these boys…hurt you?” And this should have been the moment that Rose told her aunt and cousin that she had been hurt all year long and she didn’t think a trip to the hospital wing would do her any good. But she didn’t say yes, like she wanted to. She said,

“No, nothing like that.” Andromeda, having kneeled in front of her and staring into her eyes, pursed her lips. “Really, they didn’t.”

“Good.” She said after a few moments. She shared a look with Dora, who was silently listening, her eyes a pink color. “But answer me this—how old were these boys?”

“I’m not sure,” She said, looking down at her wand. “They were in their fifth year.” She twirled her wand between her fingers, not daring to look up to the sudden heavy silence.

“Are you saying that fifteen year old boys are bothering an eleven year old girl—and what, they were in Gryffindor you said? So what—they’re bullying you because you’re in Slytherin, is that it?” Dora asked, standing up, crossing her arms. “Are they bothering, or bullying, Mary? Which is it?”

“Neither—it’s just taunting.” She said quickly. “Really,” She added at Dora’s unbelieving face. She raised an eyebrow.

“If you have to convince yourself of that, then it’s probably not just that.” She waited. Rosemary said nothing.

“Leave the girl alone, Dora, she would tell us if it was something more.” Andromeda silenced her daughter with a look. “Wouldn’t you, Rose?”

Rose was much too eager to end this conversation with a nod, and that was the end of that anxiety building talk. They moved on to their lessons, as she wanted to practice being able to sort the difference between incorporeal Patronus and the corporeal Patronus. However, something kept her from thinking clearly and her aunt noticed, “You best get whatever’s on your mind off now before you burn your wand with the absent-mindness.” She took this as an invitation.

“Andromeda, do you know anything of a Quirrell?” She asked, “Quirinus Quirrell, actually? He’s a professor at Hogwarts, of Defence against the Dark Arts.”

She thought for a moment, “Never heard of him. Anything special to remember him by?”

“Very...nervous and…wears a turban,” She made a circle around her head. “I was just…wondering. Actually, I’m actually wondering about something else,” She bit her lip. “Do you—do you think that Voldemort—sorry, You-Know-Who, do you think…it’s possible for him to, oh I don’t know,” She smiled nervously but her smile fell, “Come back?”

Quiet blanketed the room and she stared down at her with cold eyes. Dora was silently staring at her, her eyebrows raised. “No.” She said finally and she pursed her lips in deep thought. “No I do not suspect he is able to come back. Why the sudden interest?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Rose….” She paused. “Has there been something going on in school? Because should you have suspicions of having found a Death Eater in a _school_ , you should say now, and I will take care of it, that I promise you.” She said finally.

“No—no really, Andromeda, I was just _wondering_ ,” Rose said, hoping to convince her aunt and herself.

                                                   *******************************

Ollivander’s wand was narrow and shabby with peeling gold letters over the door of the shop read:  _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._

She found that, the house in which they practiced in was the Shrieking Shack. A old house, older than she was, and unused, so she had to be very quiet and quick when making her way out of it after Dora and Andromeda left.

The shop window displayed a solitary wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window, as it had when she first walked in to purchase her own wand. The shop was tiny, empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it. Rose walked in, hoping to find the wand maker sooner, her notebook clutched in her hand. “Mr. Ollivander?” She called out, examining the shop.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as she stepped inside. It was dead quiet, and then, "Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Rose jumped, not having heard the approaching footsteps.

An old man was standing before her, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop, and she recognized him immediately from her first time in the shop. How long ago that felt. She felt different from that time. She smiled as she did the first time and offered her hand. “Hello, Mr. Ollivander. Should you remember me, I’m—”

“Rosemary Aurora Malfoy, by the name of Rose and very, very rarely, of Mary? Never Aurora or Aura, even?” He guessed. “Yes, I remember you. Lots of wand potential, as it reflects your own potential. May I see it?”

She could only guess he meant her wand so she handed it over and he examined it, “Ten and a quarter inches long, made of aspen wood with a phoenix core, is it?” He nodded to himself. “I expect you have been doing exceptionally in charms, yes? Aspen wood has an attraction to those with outstanding charmwork.”

She nodded along, smiling, “Yes, I have been doing well, thank you.” She knew this was a good idea. It was very easy, to find out what kind of wand her target in mind possessed, should she just ask for an answer from the wand maker. “Sir, may I ask a few questions? Concerning your wands, I mean. Nothing problematic, I just find them—well, I find the art of wand making so fascinating, I’d thought I’d go to the best I knew.”

Mr. Ollivander smiled, though it was slightly confused, “Hope you do not plan to become a wand maker, it’s a risky business.” She let him talk for a minute about the prices and the flow of purchases as she got out of her pen—a very strange gift from Ariel, as it came in a pack of twenty all black inked. She got used to them quickly, and found them very useful—and enchanted notebook (never ending pages, and leather bounded, with a strap to wrap around). “But what has intrigued you, my dear?”

She jotted down a few notes, “Well, it’s more of how intriguing it is of how they chose the wizard or witch.” She said, “How is it that they are chosen, sir, as I’ve heard many theories.”

“As I’ve told all my costumers, “He handed her wand back, “The wand chooses the witch. Now, the exact properties,” He flitted to the other side of the store, and she followed, and started stacking boxes between other boxes, in which she knew wands were stored in. “Are very intricate and it takes many tries to perfect the match—sometimes it happens on the first try, sometimes the wizard or witch will try out wands for hours before a perfect match will occur, though those are very rare.”

Rose jotted down notes, and nodded along, “It all depends on the wizard or witch. Should they be ambitious, or happy with what is expected, or should they be a powerful witch or wizard, there will always be a perfect match in a wand for them. The wand reflects many of the greatest attributes to the witch or wizard fated to use it.”

Rose paused at this. “Is it possible to have…two possible matches?” She thought of the wands she saw. She was sure that Quirrell had two wands in his possession when she had caught him in his classroom. She waited his answer, hoping to seem as casual as possible, as if she wasn’t holding baited breath.

He paused, “Never, in my years, have I encountered one person with the two wands.” She deflated but started taking notes anyway. “There have been, however,” She looked up, “Cases of which wizards have come in asking for a better wands…”

“I’m so sorry, sir, but I have to be back soon—just one last question, if you don’t mind.” When he nodded, she asked, “Do you know who you sold a thirteen and half yew wand with a phoenix core to?” She asked, hopping to Merlin himself that this wasn’t too risky of a question.

His face fell into a solemn picture and he shook his head, “I cannot answer that, my dear.”

By the time she was back in the Shrieking Shack on her way back into Hogwarts, she found herself with nothing but information on wands. What was she supposed to figure out with this? That wands could be tracked by their cores? Or that someone could break a person down by traits by just their wands? What good did this do her?

She thought about the rarest wand wood that was pretty interesting. At some point he had mentioned it, Elder wood. She threw her bag over her shoulder, tucking her wand into her hair before clambering through the tunnel. Where had she heard the name, Elder wood? It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Strange, she thought. She’d learned nothing today, unfortunately. She thought of her Patronus and smiled—if only she could tell her family about it, they’d be so proud of it.

As she snuck into the castle, when the castle had quieted, she could finally breathe. Moving along the shadows of the castle, she found it highly lethal that banshees were shadow sorceresses. Yes, banshees were very well educated into the shadows of both the mind and the physical world so much so that they could bend it. But, alas, Rose could not bend it—she was very much looking forward to learning how to. She could learn to hide things in her own shadow by just taking it behind her back and dropping it onto her shadow and thus it will disappear. Andromeda could this and shadow travel from place to place and hide several _people_ in her shadow and shadow travel with them as well. She was also a very skilled mind shadow bender, which was hiding your mind in the shadows, Rose could only guess. Very good when considering people here could read minds. But for now, she could only hide in the shadows, though she couldn’t do much else. Maybe learn how to hide things but not just yet.

Her stress and anxiety were getting worse every day, but she refused to admit why. Refused to admit that hanging out in the Gryffindor tower should cause her any stress—because she could not be doing anything wrong to provoke a fight. Because she had _never_ done _anything_ _wrong_. But why was it she still had the anxiety? She didn’t understand this. It irritated her.

As the exams approached, so did the end of the year, which meant she had fewer opportunities of distractions. She had a final game of Quidditch to keep her company, but after the studying and volunteering in the hospital wing, and the lessons (would they continue into the holiday break?) with her aunt, and of course, the worrying, she had nothing left. Yes, she was expected to continue with several classes and tutoring during the break, but how much could academics really do for her in distracting her?

She was starting to concern over her mentality. She had a lot going on at that moment, but the thought of her last lesson with Quirrell was rather harmful whenever she thought about it. She was glad that Snape had suspended them, she felt rather uncomfortable now thinking about what Quirrell was training her to do. And she didn’t even know. All she knew that it was not normal for a witch.

Added onto the worrying was when she finally got introduced to Hagrid’s pet _dragon_ , Norbert.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It was rather large to Rose, but apparently, it had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his game keeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor that Rose had to jump over constantly.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment." Hagrid bit his lip, glancing at Rose.

“As far as I know, he hasn’t told me anything about this. He’d tell me before doing it.”

"I—I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. “Charlie,” he said.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?”

"No—Charlie—your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!"

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter -- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

They looked at one another.

"We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too difficult -- I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert—and Malfoy. There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey -- would she recognize a dragon bite?—so Rose was the one treating him, though she could barely recognize whether or not serious medical treatment was needed. By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green and Rose had no antidote. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed, Rose sat by his bed taking what seemed to be an hourly temperature. She looked a mess, her hair messy and her clothes dishevelled. 

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me—I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me -I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down but there was no use,

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"But that’s the worst part! Malfoy knows!” He exclaimed.

Rose explained before he could rise his temperature any higher. “My brother came in here and took a book he knew would have the letter in and when we realized, I sort of—sort of stole it back—”

“She tackled him. That’s why she looks like a peacock.” Ron added.

“But he’d already read the letter.” Rose finished with a sold at Ron, tugging on her hair to stay behind her ear.

Harry and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep and that Rose had done her work and should be heading to her common room to study and revise a healer book on Creature Damages and How To Tend to Them. She wondered how much she could guess by just the injuries Ron had.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Harry told Hermione as Rose sorted through the book. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

“I’m sorry, an invisibility cloak? Since _when_?” Rose questioned. Aaagh, they had not told her about the mirror incident. When Harry told Rose about the night he’d had and the Mirror of Erised, she completely paled—and that was a real view since she was usually a very pale person—hair and all. She took immediately, giving a random excuse of her housemates planning something for the night.

 _Harry saw his mother and father and their families, which means his greatest desire is family,_ Rose thought while running down the corridor, _While Quirrell was asking her about the mirror that meant he knew about it. Harry had said Dumbledore had moved the mirror, which could mean the mirror could be the last instrument in protecting the stone—and such a heavy protection from who exactly? Probably the same person as whoever the wand belonged to that Quirrell had gotten, the same person as his master._

Rose did not know how to find the mirror. She did not know how to find the Stone. She did not know how to even get passed the dog and she did not know how to get passed the other levels of protection organized by the other teachers. She didn’t have any context but the fact that Quirrell was heavily involved, as was Snape and Dumbledore, but for what she could do, it was to steal the wand and to steal it tonight.

And then, as she slowed reaching the right floor, she felt someone slow with her, “I’m glad you can clear your mind so quick in one night.”

She turned, “Lily!”

 “No, I’m just a manifestation of your mind.” She said simply, smiling almost. “What happened to telling McGonagall?”

“Telling Professor McGonagall risks Quirrell finding out—or maybe Snape. I’m not sure which is more dangerous right now but I have to interfere somehow.”

“Ah, the Stone you mean,” Lily frowned, “I wish I knew more than you do but, alas, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Apologizing for someone else’s actions are not your responsibility, Lily.” Rose told her immediately, “Causes guilt. I’d rather avoid it, if I were you.”

Lily smiled, “You sure could pass for Andromeda’s daughter, you know that right?” Rose shrugged but looked away, continuing their walk and talk down the hall.

“Why is it me? Why not Andromeda?” Rose asked her, looking back at her. “I mean, she was your best friend. And she…she misses you.”

Lily’s smile became a lot sadder, “Yes, she is my best friend—perhaps putting this task to her is much easier. Head of the Auror department wouldn’t be questioned to search a teacher, would she? Easier process perhaps, but that would raise suspicions and that’s the risk—and besides, you would have needed to meet her to learn about being a banshee.”

Her eyes widened, “So you did push that book out? You wrote in it, to tell me to ask the stars?” Rose asked and Lily nodded. “The stars being Andromeda?”

“I did, when I was sixteen,” Lily said and Rose did a mental check to ponder if she were stable or not.

“Six—sixeen!?” She whispered in a higher voice. “I was born in 1998, you…died…in 1999…how could I…how could you…” She held her head. “I’m dizzy.”

“I know,” She held her own head, blinking hard. “I know it’s unfair—I know it is. I can’t say much because you already know it—don’t you? You will, I know you will…but I’m here to help—I want to help. You only have to trust me—it’s like trusting your subconscious…but not really, actually.” She frowned. “What’s important right now is that you do what you feel is right.”

“Steal….steal the wand then,” Rose whispered, running a hand through her loosened hair. “This is—this is going to get me killed—or worse.”

“It’s hidden in the fire place—he’s hidden it in the fireplace. I know—it’s ridiculous and genius. Why look for a wooden wand in a fireplace, of all places, but it’s there. For now.”

“So in and get the wand and out. Easy.” She counted her breaths, and was ready to creep in when she realized one important factor—he was opening the door. Immediately when the handle moved, she slammed into the darkened wall and shrank into the shadows. She watched him peer outside the door, both ways and then close the door behind him and lock it. There was no outer keyhole.

Her heart in her throat, she shuffled down the hall and then found herself lurking back down to her common room, feeling foolish. She was ready to just walk into a classroom, without a proper plan or background check— _he was in there! Fully awake!_ She needed to prepare for this and properly and that started with one check—find out his schedule to the minute.


	20. The Wand, or Lack Thereof

“I take a letter from you and you lose 50 points for revenge? For what, exactly? How did you even manage this?” Rose asked dropping her bag next to Draco on Monday morning during breakfast. She’d just now seen the hourglass containing their points—now they were 50 points down. It wasn’t as bad as Gryffindor—they’d lost 150 points. She didn’t know what had happened, and she would get to Harry about it next but what the _hell_. “And please, tell me it isn’t because you tried to get Harry, Hermione and Ron in trouble.”

There was a low whistle suddenly, and a "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!". Rose glared in the direction of the culprit but there were many who did this, mostly Slytherins. Rose turned her eyes back to Draco. He was grumbling at his cereal.

“Why’d you care about them so much, anyway?” He asked as she sat. “They got you into trouble loads of times, and that insufferable girl always answers questions you can answer. I don’t get it…” He continued.

“We’ve had this argument before Draco, and the answer will always remain because we are friends.” She thought about Ron and her having never actually talked to each other about anything but disbanded that thought immediately. “What’s happened?”

Draco told her about the dragon he believed her friends had and how he wanted to expose them by getting Professor McGonagall out for them. Unfortunately, it had backfired for him—and for the trio in Gryffindor as well, it seemed. As Hermione later described it, they had all received detentions. Of course, it took nearly an hour to get this out of her, as she was in hysterics the second Rose had asked her about it.

Now she had more things to worry about—no, not exams, she was much too prepared and smart for that—the wand she had to nick from Quirrell. It was definitely not going to be easy, and certainly not alone. So, the only person she knew to make sneaking around look like a dance was fortunately just in the next dormitory.  

“A wooden wand,” Ariel asked. “In a fireplace?” She had to explain everything twice for Ariel to grasp the actual context. She had explained that she needed help stealing something from a teacher of the school, trying to keep is as nonchalant as possible. “A place for _fire_?” Once more, Rose nodded. Ariel seemed slumped. “Seems a little suspicious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well—why does someone, a teacher of dark arts no less, put a wooden wand in a fireplace? No, no Rose, this sounds really sketchy, I say you throw it down into the water fountain and let it sink to the bottom of the lake.”

“We can’t give merpeople magical objects.”

“Drat,” Ariel was not let down, however. “I still believe that it’s sketchy. I mean—what if he…I don’t know, planted it there?” Rose raised a brow. “Well, I mean, why would he do that in the first place? Why would he put a wand in a fireplace for anyone to find should they go looking? It just doesn’t make sense. Do you even know who the wand belongs to?”

Rose shrugged, “It’s what I plan on finding out. If I can figure out the core, then I can track it. I asked Ollivander and he says it’s efficient.”

Ariel seemed still uneased by it. “Whatever. Just don’t encounter any murderers with that wand—wizards get angsty when they lose their wands, you know. Hey!” she pulled out her own wand. “Why don’t we find out what the last spell was! If you think Quirrell murdered someone—I fully support you on that theory, by the way—just go to a teacher. Make it as exaggerated as possible if you need to.”

“I suppose I’ll just go to Snape about it, then.” She was feeling safe going to a professor about something, _finally_. “He knows there’s something going on with Quirrell—I’ll let you know how it goes.”

She found it difficult to accumulate how to possibly script what she needed to say to her head of house but she figured just saying it outright would be best—maybe he even knew Lily Evans? Maybe he knew something to help? She stopped by Snape’s classroom, her hand mid-air, just about to knock, but then a snap of her vision divided and suddenly, she was in a little living room.

It was dimly lit, with lamps by the couches, and there were little baby trinkets littering the living room. A blanket was hanging off the armchair and there was a baby bottle on the coffee table. She glanced around and caught the sight of herself in the wide window—the curtains were not drawn. She had…black hair that was fading back to her natural blonde. Where was…she…. Her eyes had fallen to a baby, with black hair in blue pajamas. A black haired man wearing glasses, obviously a wizard, was making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the child. For a long moment, she stared up at the tall man and saw Harry but his eyes weren’t green. Harry looked older, grown into his features and rather handsome but just not…Harry at the same time. Her eyes widened…was this…?

The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist. “Yes, Harry! Come on!” The man was laughing and seemed so happy but could he not feel the deeming tense air around them? She did. It was causing her heart to slow but it was so loud in her head. Something bad was going to happen…very bad…

A door opened and Lily Potter was standing in the living room now, radiant and young and alive, “Bedtime for Harry Potter. All aboard the sleep express!” She laughed, shaking her dark red hair about her, letting it fall out from behind her ears. “No soon enough, he’ll be boarding the Hogwarts Express,” She laughed as her husband scooped their son up and handed him to his mother. “Oh, how I’ll—Rose?”

The sudden intense green eyes on her own black eyes was startling and she jumped. Her hair wacked her in the face—her hair was down?—this was definitely just a hallucination. She never wore her hair down.

But Lily saw her—she was wearing a green dress and she was barefoot. She saw a band aid over her right knee and her toenails were shiny and painted a lavender color. But her voice was quiet as she said her name and her eyes widened. She held her baby closer.

James Potter had thrown his wand onto the couch and was stretching, mid yawn when he noticed his wife’s sudden falter in her sentence. Lily was staring at her, her playful mood gone.

The front door burst open.

James, without picking up his wand, ran to the hall as someone’s footsteps creaked as they entered. Rose was frozen and she could not feel her body move but it did and she raised her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

Lily tore her eyes away from Rose to glance over and then suddenly jumped to Rose and pulled her arm to pull her as she sprinted back and disappeared with her behind the door. Rose could not follow, as she felt herself being dragged but saw still, the living room, feeling an everlasting pain fill her head and make her dizzy but she able to see more clearly because of it as she heard, “Avada Kedavra!”

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and it blinded Rose as she heard James Potter fall to the floor, his glasses falling into sight of Rose. She gasped but was transfixed to her spot. A scream erupted from upstairs and she heard a slam. The scream awakened her but she was transfixed as someone moved into view, crushing the glasses beneath his foot…she saw the wand first, the one that was two inches longer than hers and that was light like hers but not as light and she was pulled back with Lily, she could see boxes and a chair pulled in front of a little bedroom. It was desperate but she couldn’t do anything but she wanted to, she wanted to so desperately because she knew she was dying—and not because she knew of Harry’s parent’s fate but because something in the pit of her stomach told her so.

Lily was frantic, holding her son to her chest as she looked at Rose, “Please, please don’t let him kill him, please do something…” She was inches from crying but she seemed so desperate, as if already knowing Rose could do nothing for her or her son but watch this horrific set of scenes roll out but trying still desperately. She had no wand…

 She heard steps and looked around frantically—could she climb out the window?? Could she hide in the small closet? No chance—the door flew open, slightly off its hinges and the cloaked figure cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand. He took in the scene, but looked right to Lily and Harry Potter, because Rose was the hallucination of Lily in this version of things, and they were her hallucination but this had happened but why, Merlin, why was this shown to her!?

She screamed, unable to do anything as Lily dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, pushing Rose against the farthest wall, and shielding her son out of sight. “Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl . . . stand aside, now.”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—”

“This is my last warning —”

“Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I’ll do anything—”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

Rose screamed as another Killing Curse was muttered and Lily Potter dropped dead like her husband, her red hair standing in for blood. Rose was blinded by the green light.

The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and, to Rose’s horror, he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing—but Lily did not stand and James was lying in the hall still. He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy’s face and stared into his eyes, his mother’s exact color eyes, the exact eyes Rose saw when Harry apologized to her when she wore that same color of those eyes. The child began to cry, as if seeing it had seen that he was not James. “Avada Kedavra!”

A final scream from Rose was the last thing she saw of the scene until she, like Voldemort, dropped to the floor. The baby was crying, she couldn’t get to him, how could she get to him…?

Someone else was here—she could feel it. She crawled to the crib, her head ringing with the cries of her friend’s mother, begging his life. Someone had staggered in the hall, and she heard a muffled scream and a heavy weight drop. “Oh, Merlin, please, please, please—stop playing a prank on me, Prongs! Dammit, _please_ —! Andy! Help me!”

Someone else spoke—there were two people? “Lil—y?” Andromeda Tonks’ very most familiar voice broke as she called up the stairs and Rose lifted her head. Harry had not stopped crying.

“Andro…” Rose tried whispering and there was an immediate response, someone was running up the stairs and her aunt appeared at the door, falling against the doorframe with a look of hope in her eyes that broke as she saw Lily Potter on the floor, fresh tears still stinging her eyes. Someone had followed her up and an unfamiliar man took his place next to her aunt. They looked familiar—both with the same dark eyes she had.

A choked sob escapes through the man’s clenched teeth at the sight of Lily Potter. He takes a moment to stroke her hair and close her eyes while sobbing but Andromeda is frozen at the door, staring mindlessly at Rose. She was staring back at her aunt but her aunt’s eyes passed over her and they both listened to the quiet cries of the child in the crib.

The man with the dark eyes took the baby and their cries muffled into one song of heartbreak in the midst of a tragedy, until, “Sirius,” Andromeda stroked the baby’s hair when Sirius came to stand with her, and they stood close in the cold of the night. Andromeda was now staring at the lifeless body of Voldemort, his wand still in hand, the wand made of yew and light like hers, but not as light, that was two inches longer than hers…

And then she was staring at her hand, still in a clenched fist, tighter now, and there was blood trickling down her wrist from her hand.

“Miss Malfoy,” Someone called from far away and then she was able to stagger slightly.

“Oh!” She gasped as she let her hand unclench and blood trickled down her hand. She was back to the step in front of Snape’s office and he was not staring down at her impatiently. “Oh, um…”

“Yes, Miss Malfoy, what is it?” He asked in a tone of boredom. “What’s happened to you hand?”

She hid it quickly, her eyes stinging painfully, “Quirrell—bad, something bad, he killed them, oh Merlin Harry, oh _Merlin_ ,” She said in one breath. “I—sorry Professor, but I have to—I have to go!” She couldn’t keep herself routed in place any longer, not with what she had just seen. Harry needed to know—he deserved that much from her.

 

A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How could they ever make up for this? And how was he supposed to compensate knowing he’d been the cause of it?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!" He could see Rose glaring over to the people who’d done so, as it seemed like half the house was happier with being in the lead rather than Gryffindor being next to last. He was happy seeing Rose had not been cheering.

Only Ron stood by him.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?" said Harry miserably.

"Well -- no," Ron admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?" But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him "the Seeker."

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. At least, not from Gryffindor. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence. Even Rose couldn’t draw out her smile, as she was usually the one to do so.

Rose didn’t seem all that saddened by losing fifty points. Of course, she wasn’t the one who’d lost it, but it seemed like something she would have been upset about. She was, after all, a big part of those points in her class. She seemed rather distracted, and always had a faraway look in her midnight blue eyes. She had come to see him just the day after losing a hundred and fifty points and she seemed a little off.

“Harry,” She was wearing her hair down and it looked frazzled but it distracted him for a second—she had long, perfectly brushed hair that went down past her shoulder, and it was a nice blonde color and full and voluminous when parted off the side but it also meant that she was probably not okay. He’d never once seen her with her hair down. “May I speak to you, for just a moment?”

She seemed a lot more tired than how tired she was usual and Harry could guess that wasn’t too healthy. “What’s up?” She sat next to him on the couch in the common room, giving him a break from having to memorize dates, and struggled for words.

“Should I—should I tell you something in confidence, would you not say anything?” At Harry’s confused nod, she continued, “There’s something going on…and I think it involves—” But as she started, she looked at him directly into his eyes, something she hadn’t done for days, and dropped her sentence.

“What is it? Rose?” Harry asked. Rose shook her head. Some more Gryffindor students started piling into the common room and some older fifth year boys were bringing in their loud atmosphere. As they came in, Rose seemed to shrink into Harry, leaning by his shoulder as if in hopes to hide from someone. “Rose?”

“Never mind, Harry.” But she did not stop hiding and that was it.

That odd conversation was something that distracted him often, which probably wasn’t a good idea, since exams had been coming up. Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying he had to do kept his mind off his misery and off Rose’s oddness—she couldn’t even look him in the eye, had he done something?

He, Rose, Ron, and Hermione kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions, though most days, he would see Rose not flipping a page, as if she were only pretending to read her textbook. He thought about how smart she was in class and wondered if she hadn’t said something about already being prepared on purpose of not showing off. Why was she in Slytherin again?

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

"No -- no -- not again, please --"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

"All right -- all right --" he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him.

He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end.

Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling. All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Philospher's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step -- Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell --"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?" Rose said nothing at this, but she looked up and stared at Ron for a moment, before sinking into her place once more.

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before Harry could.

"Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor -- who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around --"

"No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

“Well, I must be off,” Rose said, sliding her books into her bag. “Shall I see you tomorrow?” She didn’t wait for a reply and Harry watched her walk. Her hair was back up again.

 

Rose was faced with two options: steal the wand this week and give it to Andromeda because Quirrell’s master (Who she put two and two together for and figured out that she was in over her pretty little head) was not someone she should be stealing from or go to Dumbledore about everything she had going on. Or, she could steal the wand and do as Ariel suggested and toss it. Let someone else deal with all of this.

She didn’t ask for this, and she’s not glad to have it. Why should she? It wasn’t her fault….

The second option was to find a way past the dog, because that was where she was sure to find the mirror. Afterwards, she would destroy the mirror. If Quirrell was what she suspected he was doing, than destroying what he was after would be the only answer, should she choose this option.

The decision was made when she asked Nymphadora about it their next lesson on how she would go about it and was answered that only music could calm such beasts. Good thing she can sing, isn’t it?

But not a good thing she was always busy—she never got the chance to go down and look for herself. Not between volunteering in the hospital wing, studying, lessons, practicing, worrying, losing sleep and Quidditch practice, she had not a chance to try and sneak off to try and find that corridor again. She also added calming Hermione down about her detention the next morning when she got a note: _Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_Professor McGonagall_

She also had to suffer through mumbles from her brother about the detention and about Harry Potter and his stupid scar. She had a choice now, as they left for their detention that night, to either get herself into enough trouble to get herself a detention to follow or spend her time in either the slytherin common room waiting for her brother or the Gryffindor common room with the Weasleys waiting for her friends. Or….

She remembered what Ollivander had told her about wands, and how they reflected a person’s traits in many ways. She had potential, as her wand did too. But what could that possibly mean about her? Potential to do…what? Good, she hoped. Always good.

 _…what did Quirrell’s wand reflect about him?_ She wondered. _And what did he need the mirror for?_ Taking a deep breath, she turned to the door she’d been taking note of and bent to its knob’s level, pulling her wand out of her hair. Hair drifted down to her face as quietly whispered, “Alohomora,” and unlocked it. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed the door open.

She’d made sure to watch Quirrel walk out of his classroom and cast a locking spell on it, which was suspicious all on its own. She had the plan, she had the time and she had the place. Get the wand in two minutes out of that fireplace and _get the hell out of there._

She poked but her head in and saw the classroom empty. Hurrying, she closed the door behind her and was engulfed in the fumes of garlic. Wrinkling her nose, she hurried to assess the classroom and stare across the classroom to a door that led to his office and home space. Quiet as a mouse, with her heart thundering in her chest, she started approaching the door, finding it slightly ajar the closer she got. She listened in, holding her breath to hear of any movement and found the room behind the door was still. She slipped in through the crack with ease and stood in the office and home space.

The room was decorated in what Hermione had once shown her to be African tribal masks, which hung on the walls, alongside a large bookshelf with not only books, but what appeared to be skulls. He had a telescope facing the window, and turbans and cushions strewn on the floor. A curtain was pulled back in the corner by a desk to reveal an empty bed with the bed made. The room reeked even worse of garlic. She covered her nose with her right hand as she proceeded with her left hand holding her wand up in front of her as she approached the fire place on the wall opposite to the window.

It was cold, as if someone had been gone a good amount of time. The fireplace must have been out a long time... She took a deep breath in through her mouth and removed the hand covering her nose, and stuck her hand in the cold fireplace, searching for something that felt like a wand until—aha! She pulled out a wand and in the dark, she made out its uniform. It was white, as yew wands were, as her own aspen wand was not the same color, and was longer than hers by perhaps two inches. It near about sparked at her touch and seemed to accept her as a potential owner. Now what? What was she to do with it? She had just stolen it—from a teacher, by the way—with no further plan of action for it.  

She had little time to think about her next action, because a door closed behind her. She prided herself to be a planner, but she could not explain how and why she thought of her only way out being the open window. She did, however, throw one leg over the sill to catch an uneven brick in the boundary and was just tall enough to reach the one just below that one. If anything, should she not die, she was going to find her way through the Hufflepuff common room to the dungeon. Wind whistled around her as she climbed down but she missed one brick and skidded down, hanging by just her arms.

Being in ballet for years gave her a great sense of flexibility and strength in her legs, so she was able to hook her leg over a flag pole and twist, having her put most of her weight onto that pole. Unfortunately, she was not all that tall, so the next brick she tried for was a little too out of her reach. So she decided to wing it and slid down the pole to reach it. And now, this is when she realized what she was doing, freaked out and missed the brick. The good news was that she wasn’t dead when she fell, but she did, however, only land on her butt and that _hurt_. _A lot_. Like _a lot_ , a lot. Like _oh my g o s h,  o. w_.

So yes, it was a little nerve wracking, being outside the castle, her legs sore, talking to flowers after having just stolen from her teachers and had to drop into a pile of dirt. She walked into the Hufflepuff common room and only found one boy sitting at a desk. Startled, she was ready to walk right back into the passage, but she noticed that the boy was sprawled on the sofa was Cedric and then she noticed he was deeply asleep.

For a second, she wondered how it would be, to be as peaceful as he seemed. He slept soundly, without waking up and for a moment, she wished desperately to be able to do that. But then she sneaked out of the common room, and she stepped into the dungeon and her life came back.

 

Hermione and Harry came back into the common room after every other Gryffindor student had gone up to bed and only Ron, who’d fallen asleep in the dark, and Rose remained. Instead of sneaking into her common room, she decided to go up to the Gryffindor common room to finally explain everything she’d gone through throughout the year, to explain about her abilities and what she’d seen and what she could do—she still found herself smiling to herself when thinking about her ability to cast a Patronus charm!—but she was near falling asleep had Hermione not nudged her gently awake. Harry, however, roughly nudged Ron to wake him up. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when he did. In a matter of seconds, though, both were wide-eyed as Harry began to tell them what had happened in the forest; Voldermort had killed a unicorn for its blood to revive himself.

Rose felt her own blood run cold. Harry was pacing, which did nothing for her anxiety. He was shaking. "Snape wants the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich...." He was completely wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak…

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so.... Bane was furious... he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen.... They must show that Voldemort's coming back.... Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me.... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

“The stars?” Rose asked faintly. This being the one thing Rose could ask in this mode of confusion and panic. Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Will you stop saying the name?!" Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over. When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his invisibility cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

_Just in case._


	21. The Shadow of a Banshee

Rosemary was proud to say she was bored studying now, meaning she had studied everything there was to study. This, however, was not her worry. She was built up in anxiety throughout the exam period, in tight piano strings, as if waiting for Voldermort himself to walk through those doors, demanding Rosemary for his wand in front of everyone. She’d probably be dubbed a Death Eater in that moment and everything she’d defended her parents for would be for nothing.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell. They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Easy. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Easy, Rose got it perfectly. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion, but Rose, caught up on all her wits about potions and rested easy knowing Snape probably wasn’t involved with the whole stone situation, was able to get through it without breaking a sweat over the exam portion of the potion. Of course, carrying a murderous wand in your pocket did add to it, but she tried not to think about that.

All through the period, Rosemary’s hands were stinging. Even hours after taking the exams, after they should have recovered from the hours nonstop using a quill, they still stung. Nightmares woke her more consistently, that falling asleep during an exam was added to her worst fears now. Only Harry seemed to share in the anxiety and fear.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Rose couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

“Before how _nicely_ we’ve done,” Rose corrected him, shaking her hands out in hopes of getting rid of that sting. It was irritating now. She rubbed her thumb over the more stinging hand, as if there was a loose hair on it that she couldn’t get off—like wiping water off it, but it was just always wet.

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

"I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting—it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

Rose cast her a look of hurt, “I am a part of the hospital wing, ‘Mione.”

She was having none of it, “You’re an _assistant_.”

"I'm not ill," Harry interrupted the girls. "I think it's a warning... it means danger's coming...."

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he'd forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

Rose snickered at this. “But, honest, Harry. I would blame the person who was jolly enough to carry a dragon egg around with them and then brag about it in a bar—” They froze, staring at each other. Without speaking, they clambered to their feet. Distracted for a moment, Rose found in disappointment that Harry had grown an inch taller and she remained small.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"Just a thought—same thought, I presume Harry?” Rose said. He had turned white.

Harry nodded, "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up with them.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon,”

“And then out pops a random stranger who just happens to be carrying a dragon egg in his pocket, ready to hatch? How many people do you know who wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law?" Rose finished.

"What are you two even talking about?" said Ron, but they were already sprinting down across the grounds.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

Rose cringed. “Oh no,”

He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows. "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head -- that's the pub down in the village. Might’a bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas. "What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah... he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here.... He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told him... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks.... Let's see... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted... but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home.... So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."

"Did he, per chance, seem at all interested in Fluffy?” Rose questioned, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well -- yeah -- how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep --" Hagrid suddenly looked horrified. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey -- where're yeh goin'?"

Rose, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds. "We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under thatcloak,” _Or Quirrell,_ Rose thought, “—it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"We'll just have to --" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you four doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely, too. _There’s the Gryffindor girl,_ Rose thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Rose, already thinking out a lie believable enough, opened her mouth to speak but Harry was already speaking, "It's sort of secret," he said. She just about slapped him over the head at how stupid that sounded, as McGonagall just about did.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's gone?" Rose asked frantically. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Rosemary, he has many demands on his time --

"But this is important." Harry interjected.

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?”

"Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor -- it's about the Philosopher’s stone --"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn't pick them up. "How do you know --?" she spluttered.

"Professor, I think -- I know -- that Sn- that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. “I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor --"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

But they didn't.

"We must do something,” Rose countered. “He knows how to get passed Fluffy, he knows about the mirror, he knows everything needs to know about the Philosopher’s stone. He may have lost his wand but now he’s going to get the stone and we’re doomed.” Rose grimaced at these thoughts. “He's even got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

“Wait,” Hermione said. “Rose—what mirror? And what wand?”

Rose, startled, froze to her spot. “What?”

“You just said he knows about the mirror and lost his wand. What are you talking about? Do you know something we don’t?” Hermione eyed her suspiciously.

“Well,” But she stopped. She stared up at Snape, who stood behind her three friends. Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron wheeled round.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly. They stared at him. "You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were just—” Harry was cut off.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Potter -- any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom. Out on the stone steps, Rose turned to the others. "Who’s up to being a distraction and a lookout?”

“You,” Ron answered immediately. Rose looked offended.

“Excuse—”

“I’ll be the lookout.” Hermione interjected. “What for?”

“Keep an eye on Snape—wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it but don’t be obvious. You’re good for that."

Hermione frowned, “How so?”

"It's obvious," said Ron. "If anyone would be able to pull a concerned student, it’s you. You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong....'"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione scoffed.

"We'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron and Rose. "Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" she stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor _and_ from Slytherin! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!" Finding no other plan, the three went back to Gryffindor’s common room, hoping Hermione kept herself on Snape’s trail, when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said. Rose and the other stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering. "I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry, must you be so dramatic?” Rose asked, but found he was not joking to try and do what she tried to do for a week. She crossed her arms and stared at him. His green eyes sent shivers up her back but she refused to think of Lily Potter now.

"You can't!" Hermione added. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT?" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over  to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

Rose, stunned, stared at him in wonder. He glared at them. She unfolded her arms. “Will your invisibility cloak cover all four of us?”

"All—all four of us?"

She rolled her eyes, "For a Gryffindor, you are mighty lacking in the friendship portion of it all.” She folded her arms again. “You didn’t expect us to ship you off alone, did you? Besides, there’s something we can each offer to be useful. We’ll just need to find out what exactly Ron is useful for and we should be off.”

“HEY!”

"But if we get caught, you three will be expelled, too." Harry pointed out.

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

Rose was having none of that nonsense either, “I’m Lucius Malfoy’s only daughter, do you honestly believe they would even try to expel me?” She smirked. “And I’m sure Ron’s brothers have done somewhat worse, and he’s got a basically clean record, so nothing to worry about.” She offered. “And besides, four shall go in, and four shall come out.” She put her hand out. “Come on, then.”

Harry was the first to put his hand in, and it was cold. Then Hermione put hers down, and then, finally with a long staring contest between the three of them and Ron, he sighed and put his hand down, mumbling, “Four shall come out.” Rose smiled.

“So when shall we do this?”

After dinner, Rose and the trio parted, acting as casual as possible as they headed to their separate common rooms. Rose avoided Draco as much as possible, because no matter how good an actress she was he would see right through her. No one bothered her about her plans that night as she sat with her celebrating seventh year friends and the rest of the group. Everyone was in a giddy mood, and everyone as talking about their plans after Hogwarts. Everyone felt the air of freedom while Rose wrote in her book of observations.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed. Eddie, however, caught her before she slipped out, “Hey, Rose, can we talk a sec?”

Rose, anxious to get out, nodded, “Sure. What about?”

Eddie shrugged, seeming nervous. “Well, I don’t know, you seemed sort of—I don’t know, not okay this year. Are you? Okay, I mean?”

Surprised at this sudden caring nature, Rose nodded, confused. “Let me know if you aren’t—I have a neat stash of chocolate and that does wonders.” She smiled and let her go but the feeling of being cared for lingered as she snuck out.

She must have been early, and when she checked her watch she realized she was really early. She sighed—should she go to the Gryffindor tower room or just rot away here—

“Scream and I won’t hesitate to end you.” Someone said in her ear as a hand slipped over her mouth and an immediate wave of panic struck her. She tried to scream on instinct but something slipped around her neck to fit itself around her head and mouth. Something entangled her hands tightly together and she started to seriously panic—she couldn’t reach for her wand. “You’ll be a very lucky viewer of tonight’s historical event.” And then Quirrel dragged her inside through the door, shoving her in before closing the door behind him.

She struggled against her bonds, trying to see whether or not the end started with being eaten by a three headed dog but almost as soon as she hit the floor, harp music started playing and a loud shudder rocked into the floor. Quirrell appeared once more and dragged her closer to the hot breath of the dogs and she started struggling more, tears pouring down her cheeks.  

"Shut _up_ , you insolent little girl,” He grunted pulling the trap door open and pushing her in first. Darkness enveloped her as she fell and it might as well could have been a fall into what the Christians called Biblical Hell.

 

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He putted out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy -- he didn't feel much like singing.

He ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us -- if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own --"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back.

Neville stared at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll -- I'll fight you!"

"Neville, "Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot --"

 "Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists. "I'm ready!"

Harry turned to Hermione.

"Do something," he said desperately.

Hermione stepped forward.

 "Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

 She raised her wand.

 "Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing it at Neville.

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

 "You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as they stepped over him and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

 "Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea.

 "Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake -- I didn't see you -- of course I didn't, you're invisible -- forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

 "I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off

"Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor -- and the door was already ajar. There was no Rose to be seen.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy. Where’s Rose?”

“Doesn’t matter, we don’t have time.” Ron said.

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other two.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

 "What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes..."

He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased -- it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

 "Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads. "I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right." Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing -- just black -- there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop."

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed at himself. "

You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Ron. "I don't know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."

Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom. He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," said Ron. "See you in a minute, I hope...

And Harry let go.

 

“Might this be the mirror you saw, eh?” Quirrell asked Rose. She’d just been flung into Devil’s Snare, dragged across a room with flying keys, dragged through a very large game of wizarding chess and was forced fed a potion to be dragged into a room with the stupid Mirror of Erised.

She struggled against her bonds, glaring harpoons at the damned professor and he chuckled, “Yes, I’ll take that as my answer. But how does it work…” He examined it, “Any ideas, angel of death?” Rose froze, staring up at him in complete shock, her struggles gone. “Oh yes, I’d taken a pretty risky guess and say you’re unable to scream yet, correct?” He turned and kneeled down to her. “Banshees are so hard to find and yet, so easy to identify if you know where to look…hmm,” He tugged one strand of her hair and she struggled once more. “Oh, none of that. Here,” He waved his wand and the bonds around her mouth and head lessened. “You won’t be able to scream either way.”

“Why,” Was the first thing she croaked out. “I knew it couldn’t be Snape—he wasn’t the one speaking to voices in secret. It only made sense.” She glared at him. “You had it all nicely tied together.”

He would not stop smiling, “That I did. How very insightful of you to notice.” He took a step towards them. “And how amazing it must be, you must realize to have a true insight. If only you knew how much…” He did not finish his sentence.

“But how? How could you do this?”

“Oh no, you’ll just have to stick around until your little boyfriend gets here…Harry Potter, I mean.” He smirked down at her. “Oh yes, he’ll come. He seems the type to want to save the school—how absolutely naïve. What do you feel would happen if he saw you here, like this? Don’t you agree he’d be the type to, let’s say, _die_ for his friends? I sincerely hope this will be your first prediction, that would be simply delightful,” He then let the smile fall off his face. “Now, tell me, does he know what you know?”

“What—what do I know?” She wheezed. It was getting harder to breathe as the bonds tightened to make up for the loosened parts.

“That you knew it was me the entire time?” He smiled down—or grimaced down at her. “How do you think he’ll react when he finds out it was a sick feeling that led you to me, hmm? A scary shock, I’d say…too bad you are so naïve…If only you could understand…” He turned his eyes and attention back to the mirror. She had to keep him away from the mirror,

“How did you know what I was?” She gasped and he chuckled,

“The Dark Lord has been awaiting the next Black female to be born—the next biological daughter of the next generation would be the next banshee…he knew that aunt of yours—both of them, actually. He was not surprised to find the next female would be a Malfoy.”

“Awaiting me…? Awaiting me for what?”

“Oh, but my dear, for your powers!” He looked down at her. “Banshees are of the most powerful dark creatures of this realm—and any realm. And so very rare—he plans to keep you near him at all times, a pass of a guard, if you might. A personal alarm of death—an escape route.” He smiled. “Not to mention, once the Dark Lord has you trained, you’ll be his eyes and ears in the places he cannot be—how lucky you are, girl, to have a place in the inner circle of the Dark Lord _without even trying_ ,” With jealousy seeping through his tone, he roughly yanked her up, releasing the bonds at her legs but tightening those around her arms, making it even more difficult for her to breath. She gasped, feeling her lungs contradicting and her vision spot. “Now tell me, how does this work?”

“I—I don’t kn—know!” She gasped out, looking anywhere but in the mirror. If she were the key to getting to the Stone than she would not help the process. He would have to pry her eyes to look at that mirror—

“You lie!” He bellowed and forced her head to straighten but she refused to look at the mirror, closing her eyes tightly. “Tell me what you see, banshee! Now!”

“I—I don’t see anything!” She wailed, “I don’t! It—it’s d-dark!”

He dropped her, and she skidded back, sitting upright, “You may look like an innocent flower but there is a serpent beneath that façade,” He muttered, and her tears stung her cheeks. Something hit the floor and she looked down to choke on a gasp—Voldermort’s wand!

She looked up but he hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Carefully, remembering what Andromeda had told her, she struggled with her now pins and needles hands to grasp the wand between her fingers and, all the while feeling a sharp burn up her arms and chest, she pulled her arm back enough to drop the wand. It didn’t make a sound and she hoped to Merlin that it passed into her shadow, hidden in the depth as she was in the shadows of the trees in the Forbidden Forest like Andromeda told her she was able to do. “My friends will come,” She gasped. “They’ll come and they’ll stop you.”

“Ohoh,” He sighed, turning to stare down at her with the most wicker of smiles, “It’s what I’m counting for. My master will be very eager to meet Harry Potter once again.

 

"Brilliant," said Hermione. "This isn't magic -- it's logic -- a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?"

 "Of course not," said Hermione. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?"

"Give me a minute."

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire -- toward the Stone."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line. "You drink that," said Harry. "No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying- key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy -- go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."

"But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar.

"I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

"No -- but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck -- take care."

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire. Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them -- for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire -- then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.


	22. Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might be the biggest pltotwist i've planned out ever so....bear with me? The Tonks are about to get a much bigger role in this series...

It was Rose(?)—and then it was Quirrell(!).

"You!" gasped Harry. Rose struggled against bindings—Harry thought that this was probably the reason why she did not show up to the door earlier. She was ready to scream something to him but suddenly, vines bound around her head and mouth and she could only scream a faint muffled scream into the vines binding her. “Let her go or I’ll—”

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Or you will what?" he asked calmly. "You have no power here, Potter, not when my master wants something—but I did wonder whether I'd be meeting you here."

"But I thought – but Snape --"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell? I’d only planned on having your little friend to suspect anything, and she’s figured it out. Too bad she didn’t tell you,” He said with fake sympathy.

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

Rose moaned a word, constricting in pain. He dropped to her, trying desperately to pull on the vines but they just constricted tighter over her. She was saying something like, “No…”

"You should listen to your friend when she talks—only a fool would not listen to the wailers. I never lied, you are of the most brilliant specimens of our generations, Rosemary Malfoy.” She had to admit, the man had dedication for saying her full name. “It was I who tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter curse, trying to save you, and should your friend not been on that field, much too dedicated to being your savior than to winning the game. It makes sense to how she is Slytherin."

Harry’s mind was spinning as he dug his nails into the vines, "Snape was trying to save me?"

"But of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular...and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight." Quirrell snapped his fingers, letting the vines loosen around her body but she could only double over, gasping. “And I know of my success, as your friend sees it now. Don’t you, Rosemary?”

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry as Rose raised her arms, clutching her head, covering her ears. _She had to keep him from killing Harry…_

 “I’m sure I could get dear Rose’s veto on your death,” Rose could only respond to this with a glare. “Your aunt was exceptional, as were you, the moment you were born.” He said and Rose, despite the undeniable screech that was building its way up her throat, she was able to shoot him a hard look. “If you want someone to blame for this, blame your aunt. If she’d been a smarter girl and joined, then you could live your life in peace as a pureblood.”

“What—?”

“You’ll understand—soon.” He was smiling devilishly and she cringed harder at the sharper ringing in her head. "You, on the other hand, you're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?" Harry gasped. Rose needed to free him and get him out but she was afraid if she were to let go of her ears her head would explode.

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror, and the girl will help me.” As if using an invisible rope to pull her along, she was dragged across the floor to him and he grabbed her shoulder. “Advanced lesson, hmm? Now—the mirror is the key.” He scolded. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... We’ll be far away by the time he gets back...."

“We?” She asked weakly, refusing to look into the mirror. He smiled once more.

“Oh yes, the Dark Lord has many plans for you.” He forced her head to the side, so she could face off with the mirror. “Tell me what you see, girl.”

“So what?” She asked in distraction. “You only offered me lessons to—to what? You already knew about the mirror, what did you need me for?”

“I’ve been ordered to bring you harmless, but that won’t mean I will hesitate to—” He shook her painfully, digging his nails into her shoulders and she cried out in familiarity.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest --" Harry blurted out suddenly, trying once again to try and avert Quirrell’s attention from Rose.

"Yes," Quirrell said idly, "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. Only helped along by this girl, of course, but he suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side...." Quirrell grabbed Rose’s chin to direst her face to stare straight into the mirror. “Now…”

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much." Harry again interfered.

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you...."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions -- he is a great wizard and I am weak --"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Rose gasped. “Both times?”

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me...." Quirrell's voice trailed away.

“And then he was most angry when the wand was stolen, wasn’t he?” She asked, “Very angry that Snape had taken the wand, but you could do nothing but wait out those days, wondering if you should just take your best bet to steal the stone as soon as possible, without having the right information to simply get past the dog…waited with baited breath every time Dumbledore even looked in your general direction, wondering why he did not turn you in for having possessed one of Voldermort’s most prized possessions…but it never happened,” A silence followed before a rage. “The wand for the stone.”

“YOU FIEND!” he screamed, shaking her. “You stole my master’s wand—but h-how?” She took the moment of harassed confusion to twist in his loosened grip to swing at him and tore her knuckle punching him. She rushed back to Harry, gripping for her own wand to break the vine like binds that kept him.

Before she could, vines swept over her before she could get to her wand and twisted around her ankles. She fell onto her palms. “‘The wand for the stone’” He laughed, “I’ll be most pleased to present my master with both! But for now—” He turned back to the mirror. She started struggling and only managed to sit up and tried to sneak her wand. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!" And to Rose’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy... Use the boy..."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes—Potter—come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him, glancing back to Rose to see her moving her hand to her pocket slowly. She met his eyes and a silent message coursed between them,

_I must lie._

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and handed the stone over to another pale hand that appeared to belong to—Rose? She smiled at his mirror reflection before disappearing. Did this mean…?

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage. If he were to glance back, that would put Rosemary in trouble and if she could get out with the stone, it would be more than he would have asked for.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I -- I've won the house cup for Gryffindor." Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he dared a glance to Rose. She had her hand in her pocket and she was holding something, staring at the floor in confusion. She met Harry’s eyes and took the warning in them and slid her hand out, empty but with a nod. Dare he make a break to her? How would he unravel her tangled ankles? Before he could take five steps, however, a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies... He lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this...."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor ... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds.... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own.... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

He thought it was in his pocket... Could he bargain for Rose’s life instead? Would that work? "Don't be a fool," snarled the face, as if having a mind of its own and guessing what he was planning to do. But of course he didn’t, because he would have questioned Rose…"Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents…They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave.... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you.... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"Never in a million years!"

Harry didn’t have a proper plan but he kicked Quirrell’s unprotected back and let him fall against the mirror. Then, he sprang toward Rose, who had slid her feet out of the bindings, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened -- he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet' landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck -- Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face –

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain -- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off – the pain in Harry's head was building -- he couldn't see -- he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!" He heard a sharp screech, like breaking glasses, and Quirrell’s arm was wrenched from his grasp, and with a final thought of apologizing to Rose for dragging her into this, he fell into blackness, down ... down... down...

 

 

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy. He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick—"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

His voice, however quieter, was still thoroughly panicked. "Then who does? Sir, I --"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out. And you would not want to wake your friend, should you?” Confused, Harry looked around and realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop. He also saw a white haired head lying over pale arms at the end of the bed. Rose was sitting in a chair in what looked like a probably very uncomfortable position, but was silent and still.

"Very admirable—and a determined friend you’ve made, Harry. She’s been here every day since the episode with Professor Quirrell. A good friend of Madame Promfrey’s as well, I’d have to say, as she hasn’t said a word of her presence here.” He was positively beaming as he said this.

He looked to the pile of candy. “Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried, though they have not been as adamant on your awakening as Miss Malfoy has been." He edged on about Rose but he couldn’t focus on her.

"But sir, the Stone—”

“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from Rose. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say. A dynamic duo, the two of you are. Quite the team.”

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you and witness a most horrendous shatter of the mirror, curtesy of Miss Malfoy.”

"Wait…you were the one to push him off me?"

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the fact that I didn’t have the Stone much longer --"

"Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. Especially when Rose screamed—always trust a wail of death. And as for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Wail of—wait, destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die." Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about...."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape --"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What?"

"Yes..." said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt.... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace...."

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror and how did I give it to Rose? And why?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone—find it, but not use it—would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes.... As for why you handed it to Rose, a reflection of Rose, was because you two have been unintentionally linked through your existences. Born of the same day, of the same year, in the same hours of daylight link witches to wizards and wizards to witches. In times, you will share many similarities, but it could also explain why Rosemary has been so keen to be your friend. Or perhaps, and not at all surprising, she found you just as interesting for you. Now, enough questions.”

He shifted, “There are Aurors who’d like to ask you a few questions, so please, bare through it for a few more minutes. It will be worth your while, I’m thinking. Ah! Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

When Dumbledore passed through the doorway, it only took a few seconds for the promised ‘Aurors’ to walk in. They were both women, one Harry did not recognize, but did at the same time, with long, dark brown hair pulled back and a pale face that could only be Rose’s aunt. The second woman with her Harry recognized as Tonks, Charlie’s friend who’d taken Norbert and Rose’s cousin.

“Wotcher, Harry.” Tonks greeted him and Rose bolted out of her sleep, blinking rapidly,

“Specto Pactronus!” She cried, nearly toppling right out of her chair. Tonks snorted once but her aunt cringed, moving around the bed.

“Alright, love?” Rose jumped up, and blinked a few times. What were her aunt and cousin doing here? “And I’d thought Dora—sorry, Tonks was clumsy.” She corrected herself.

“Tonks—OH! You’re—wait are you—?” Rose was still half asleep, unable to finish her sentence when she saw Harry was awake. “Awake!” And then she flung her arms around him.

“No I’m asleep,” Tonks said, crossing her arms in amusement. “Good to see you two awake though, it sounded like you guys had a real interesting day.” Rose extracted her arms and look at them,

“Did Professor Dumbledore—?”

“We know everything that they know, which leaves you two as the sole, living witnesses,” Andromeda said, and Rose heard a slight authority voice change in her tone. She remembered that she was still the Head of the Auror Office, even though she was her aunt, and she still had very high authority over even the school. It made sense that, even on the job, she referred to Dora not as her daughter but as one of her Aurors in-training—which still raised the question, “We’ll talk in a minute, Miss Malfoy. I’d like to ask Mr. Potter a few questions, should he be well enough for it?”

Harry nodded, “I’m fine.”

“Very well, Miss Malfoy, your uncle is just in Madame Pomfrey’s office, we will get you in just a minute,” Rose smiled reassuringly at Harry and then made her way to the office, all empty expect for Ted, who was very excited to be back in his Healer’s place of origin. He was just as Rose was, in his own youth, a volunteer all through his years at Hogwarts, and oversaw many under Madame Pomfrey’s wing. He had many stories to tell too.

Harry explained everything that he’d gone through to both the Aurors, who listened attentively. Harry happily would admit out loud that he was very intimidated by Rose’s aunt and cousin, when they stood in their uniforms with such authority. Just the click of the Head’s boot click was enough to have him freeze, even if he wasn’t up to anything bad. It was scary…and he was just a student.

“Are you guys going to track him down?” He asked after a quiet moment and an exchange of glances between the Aurors, “You will, won’t you?”

“We will, but for now, there aren’t many sources as to where he could be, no trails to follow. The best we could is to warn our citizens, and keep a look out for any Death Eater activity—that’s what we call his followers. It’s best, however, not to cause any panics unless we know to where he is. We can’t risk a country wide panic while searching for him,” She pulled her hands out of her pockets, and turned to her deputy, “My aurros and I will make sure to keep all witches and wizards safe from this, Iassure you.”

This was the most comforting thing Harry had heard nearly all year. But then, “Harry,” Auror Tonks (The Head of the Aurors) said, “I was wondering how much…you knew about your legal placings and rights. Mostly focusing on your legal placement in your mother’s sister’s care.”

Hardly ‘ _care’_ , Harry thought.

“Oh, well, I’ve been in her care since my parents died. I don’t have any other blood relatives.” Harry shrugged.

Harry wondered whether or not the Aurors were advised by the Dursley’s that he could not come back to their house the summer. Maybe the fifty piece pence wasn’t really a peace offering but a mocking gesture. But then again, how could the Dursleys know anything about the Laws of the wizarding world? He barely knew a thing about them, save for what Rose had told him about them because her aunt and cousin were active in the government of the wizarding world.

“Yes, wrongfully, at that,” She said. “Your Headmaster placed you with many protective spells that protect you year round. It works as to protect you from anyone trying to find you or your family but it does not require a long stay to enable it to continue.”

Harry didn’t understand why an Auror was telling him this. Would he have to leave the Dursleys? He would welcome such news, if he were being honest. “Okay…”

“And, he enabled it for after twelve years that you could enable with just a few days rather than months, since you would be attending school here, for the year.” She continued.

“Alright,” Harry nodded. If he would leave the Durlseys, where would he go? With Ron’sfamily? He didn’t want to strain his family to board another child. It seemed like he would have to stay with the Dursleys—unless what the Auror was trying to get at was that he was kicked out. Was there a foster system in the wizarding world?

“Well, I’m not sure if anyone told you of this, but you have godparents.”

“Wait, what?” Harry sat up more in surprise. “Godparents? Who are they? Why hadn’t anyone told me?”

“Good question,” She muttered. “But, for who they are, they are Andromeda Black—now Tonks—and Sirius Black.”

It took a moment for it to settle over him but when it did, he couldn’t help but staring at her with his mouth ajar, “You’re— _you’re_ my godmother?” The very intimidating Auror was his godmother? “But—”

“I know,” She sighed. “It’s a shock and you were very much not prepared for this, especially after everything you’ve gone through the past few days, but as the year is ending and your twelfth birthday is approaching, well—” She grimaced but Harry didn’t care,

“So what? I can come live with you?” He asked and a veil of shock covered her face like a mask. Her daughter smiled widely,

“You—you would want to, then? It wouldn’t be just now, right after your birthday, but you would want to? I would have full custody of you, understand, and you would have a room of your own—Harry, you would be in my full custody, do you understand that? And I don’t have many ties to the Muggle world you grew up in other than my family being muggleborns, would you not miss that?”

“Are you joking—leave the Durlseys! That’s—!” Harry was grinning now, and it hurt to grin but it felt good. He would get to leave the Dursleys! He wouldn’t have to deal with them shoving him or bad mouthing him! No more Duddley abusing him, and just a—godsister (?)—who was an Auror, who was friend with Ron’s brother! Did this mean he could see him during the summer? He could probably see Rose, too, and she could probably get Ron too. If only Hermione wasn’t going away this summer…

“Well, then, brilliant” And then she was grinning too, widely and any authority she had was gone and she seemed so much more youthful when she smiled with the same dimples Rose had.

Rose… “Would that make Rosemary my godcousin?”

“No,” She said and the serious tone was back, “Absolutely not.”

And the smile was back.


	23. The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here we are. I don't know how to feel, having finished this book officially.   
> I hope you let me know how you feel in the comments :)

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in..."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

“And you let the Aurors in,”

“They are the law, and your godmother! This is very different,”

“But what about letting Rose in?”

“She is a volunteer, she has a right to be in the hospital wing. Now, rest.”

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey..."

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

"Harry!"

Their cries brought Rose out from the office. “Hello.”

Hermione flung her arms around Rose before she could react properly and they flew to the floor at her enthusiasm. He was glad she reigned herself in when she hugged Harry again. Rose rose back to her seat from before and smiled at Harry, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes though it had been nearly an hour. “Hey Harry…” They smiled at each other.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried--"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry and Rose told them everything: the kidnapping, Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” Harry shrugged.

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"A mad-man,” Rose nodded. “So what happened to you two?" Rose questioned.

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round -- that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall -- he already knew – he just said, They’ve gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did—I mean to say that's terrible—you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could...."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly.

“Crazy,” Rose agreed, surprised with herself to agree with something Ron said. Then she coughed awkwardly, "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and we won, of course—what with Snape’s abuse of power and hatred for Gryffindor and the points you lost for Gryffindor—and you missed the last Quidditch match, Gryffindor was steamrollered by Slytherin without you – because they cheat so much and now we won’t have a proper captain when Cass leaves, of course—but hey, the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT" she said firmly.

“Wait! There’s one more thing! Guys, I’ve got godparents—well, a godmother, and I’m going to go live with her this summer!”

Oooohhh, that’s why Andromeda wanted Rose out of the room. She needed to tell Harry of his godmother—she wondered who it was…

“Harry, that’s—” Hermione started but the Tonks came out and perhaps it was the Auror uniforms that made her freeze, or the laughing that Ted was inducing from his daughters. “AN AUROR!” She just about screamed.

“Oh! Hermione, Ron, these are my uncle and aunt, and cousin, Ted, Andromeda and—”

“Tonks,” Dora said before she could give them her name. She glanced over to her,

“Tonks. Tonks Tonks. Yes that’s quite the name.” Rose rolled her eyes. Dora took one look at the core four and smiled,

“Wotcher, Ron, how’re yo brother’s?” She asked cheerfully. Ron told her they were good and thanked her for the dragon escape,

“Dragon escape?” Andromeda raised her eyebrows, “What dragon escape, Tonks?”

“You must be Hermione! Rose described you very well!” Dora took Hermione’s hand and shook it for her, for Hermione was still paralyzed, staring at them in wonder.

“She didn’t describe you well!” Hermione exclaimed, “Rose you never told me they were an Auror and a Head of the Auror office!” She whispered shrieked. “Holy—oh my god, I need to sit down.” She sat at the bed next to Harry’s.

“Well, in my defence I didn’t know my cousin was an auror!” She grabbed a pillow and hit Dora with it, “Until!” She hit her again. “TODAY!” She hit her once more.

“Hey! Woah! I’m an Auror, kid, you can’t do that!” She hit her again and she stumbled backwards, only being caught by her mother, who was used to this apparently. “It only happened last week and I wanted to surprise you but then you almost died so I thought I’d wing it!” She exclaimed, brushing herself off. “Nice hand though, you’re getting better.” She hit her again and then Dora yanked the pillow and threw it, accidently hitting Harry, “My bad. Anyway,”

“Aren’t you supposed to take three years of extensive training at least?” Dora nodded at Hermione’s question, “And didn’t you just graduate Hogwarts last year?” Dora nodded again, shifting sheepishly. “There’s only one person who became an auror in a year and that’s—”

“My mum, I know! I follow in her footsteps—rebel against her family’s practices, becoming an auror in a year, strong associations with Hufflepuff—”

“Alright, Tonks, we must let Harry rest, he’s had a very,” Andromeda smiled at Harry, “Long and eventful day. We’ll take our leave, and we’ll be in touch, love,” She told Harry and Rose nearly choked,

“LOVE!?” She cried.

“Andromeda is my godmother.” Harry told her and she near about screamed,

“WHAT!? HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME!? DOES THAT MEAN HARRY’S MY GODCOUSIN!?” Rose asked loudly, and Madame Pomfrey interfered,

“No, it most certainly does not. As warming as this family reunion is,” Rose made a gasping sound, “MY patient must rest!”

“Your godmother—is the Head Auror…oh my…”

“Strangely enough, I had the same reaction when she first began using the name Tonks as an Auror before we were married,” Ted grinned at her but she was too weak to smile properly back.

 

Harry would soon learn everything that he would be required to know about his godmother, since she wanted no secrets or advantages on her. Knowing this, Rose took this as her cue to tell Harry about—about everything. A warm feeling filled Rose’s chest as she turned the corner for the hospital wing.

She planned on telling Harry everything about what had happened with his mother, but was surprised and thrown off by seeing Hagrid in hospital wing, sitting by Harry, a mess, if anything. Harry was holding a book as Hagrid left and he looked up, “Hi,”

Rose smiled as she sat in her usual chair and looked at the book—picture book, of several people but then, “There’s Andromeda.” She pointed at the familiar, yet younger, face of Andromeda Tonks, who was Andromeda Black back then. She was wearing her green themed uniform, her arms hugging a familiar red head in Gryffindor’s uniform colors. They were smiling and laughing in the moving pictures, and on the other page of the book, she saw Andromeda once more, with Sirius Black, and three other boys. One was James Potter, the other had scars and looked tired but he was smiling so warmly at her in the picture and the last was a small, rounder boy, with the fairest hair amongst the group. Her aunt was between James and the scarred boy, her arms around both their shoulders, dimpling at the camera but then leaning in laughter. “They were best friends, you know. Your mum and Andromeda—she became apart of your dad’s group in their second years. It’s so weird now how now we’re in the same group too.”

“Huh,” Harry said, staring at the pictures and her aunt. “You look like her. A lot.”

“Could say the same about you and your father.” She smiled but then it fell. “There’s actually something I need to tell you about—about your parents. Your mom, actually.”

So she told him the rest of the story—about Andromeda and Ted and Nymphadora and their letters and training, and about Quirrell’s interest in her and about Snape’s interest in Quirrell’s interest in her, and the dreams and, lastly, about Lily and the wand. And then, the scene of their death, though she only finished with,

“And I—Harry, I saw your parents—I saw the night they—they died.” She said, unable to push for more details.

“Oh,”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. You, or Hermione or Ron. I thought—I just thought I was—I was going to upset you. Or that I was going crazy. I honestly did. But then when I saw them—I tried to tell you. That I was a banshee—I honestly did. But then I looked into your eyes and I just kept seeing it—over and over and oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t help the tears that slipped down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them. She was not about to make anyone pity her. “I really am sorry. About it all.”

“Well—I’m sorry you had to see that…” And it was quiet.

“So—so you are not…afraid of me now? I would understand why but I would never hurt you—”

“Why would I be? You did save me on the Quidditch field,” And then she smiled and wiped her tears away, basking in the peaceful silence. Until, “What was she like?”

So she told him about Lily’s soothing voice and patience, and how playful she was with him as a baby, and how nice her hair was, “Too bad you got your dad’s hair,” They laughed, “It was a gorgeous color.”

 

So they both made their way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. Rose waited while he had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When they walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. Rose, however, did not slip off to join her friends who—who seemed to be upset? “It’s an unfair win.” She explained as she sat down with them, opposite to Hermione. People were looking at her strangely but she shrugged, “Who cares if I’m in Slytherin?”

“Weren’t you also sorted as Gryffindor? The hat said something like you belong in Gryffindor?”

“Well, there you go. Breaking rules since day one,” Rose said happily, but waved at her friends across the hall. Harry thought he saw a dark haired girl throw a piece of bread at her but no one else noticed this. Rose was rolling her eyes but was smiling so widely. Maybe some Slytherin weren’t that bad—if she could tolerate them every day.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts....

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and fifty; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and fifty."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Rose noticed her friends rolling their eyes but a few cheered.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account." The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little. Ariel let out a cheer. It was very loud.  "Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...

"First—to Mr. Ronald Weasley..." Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn. "...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, and to the sacrifice for a friend, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second—to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves -- they were a hundred points up. "Third -- to Miss Rosemary Malfoy...” Rose’s heart sped up, “For a great flare of opposing prejudice and for committing to herself past her house values for the greater good. Sixty points to Slytherin.” Once more, Slytherin cheered but her group of friends cheered the loudest. Her group screamed a chorus of, “That’s our girl!” She blushed at this and smiled at her plate.

“And to Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet “for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had five hundred and ten points -- exactly the same as Slytherin, now with the added amount of points that were awarded to Rose. They had tied for the house cup – if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Rosemary cheered the loudest at this, for the boy who had given her a chocolate beverage as to not bother her in a distressful time and she thought he could see him blushing at seeing her praise. Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him.

Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts. It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget tonight. Rose had flung herself around Harry, yelling and cheering still but hugging the wits out of him. Gryffindor and Slytherin, she was supposed to be, but in that moment she was just Rosemary and his best friend and he couldn’t be happier to hug her back.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had tied for the best grades of the first years with Rosemary. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

 

And suddenly, Rose had her trunk packed, all memory of belonging in that dorm gone and everyone was having a party. The seventh years were the hype of the party, the very center of it but Rose joined in as the girl who gave them the fairest won amount of points ever.

 Everyone was having a good time that night and then she thought of home. She would go home, to her mother and father, unable to see either her aunt or uncle or cousin. It seemed so unfair but remembered that she had so many spells to work on, so many friends to write to and so many things to learn that summer, so many pranks to plan and plans to execute on the Quidditch team now that Cass was off the team but he promised her she’d been the best that year—it seemed rather boring, but if she could cast a Patronus charm at eleven, she would be able to help herself, in any anxiety based situation.

She would have to—and maybe, at some point, she could tell someone. It seemed like such a faraway dream but she was Slytherin—if she was determined, she would do it. No matter what the sorting hat said about her (but Gryffindor was pretty cool).

She felt like a completely different person was coming home then the girl that left it…she had changed…

Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station. Rose was slightly envious that Harry would be awaited by her aunt and cousin and uncle but her happiness at the new situation was overruling her envy—she was sure they would see lots of each other, somehow.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," Ron said, "I'll send you an owl to both of you—and you too, I guess. Fred and George would be mad if I didn’t." Rose felt a heartening in her chest at this.

“Thank you, Ron, that’s probably the nicest thing you said to me ever.” As to extend a mocking olive branch, she screamed, “AWWW DO YOU WANNA _HUG_ TOO? AWW, RON, YOU _DO_ LIKE ME!! WE _ARE_ FRIENDS!!” She extended her arms and started to try to hug him but he pushed her away,

“Har har, very funny,”

"Hey, thanks," said Harry, "I think this summer will be quite literally will be the best summer." People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

"Not where I’ll going, I promise you," said Harry. “I have to stay with the Durlseys until a couple weeks before my birthday. Then I’m gone.”

He, Rose, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together. Rose linked her arm through Harry’s, smiling warmly at him.

"There he is, Mom, there he is, look!" It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron. "Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see—”

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them. "Busy year?" she said, and then looked Rose up and down, who proudly wore her sweater in the heat. The ‘R’ on her sweater was golden while her actual sweater was a lighter yellow, and it didn’t fit too well but it was the best article of clothing she owned. Turns out, she looks very good in Hufflepuff’s colors. And best of all, she and Ron had matching sweaters—what with the R, and Harry and Hermione both had H. Maybe one day they could match with each other as an R and H with an R and H.

Rose dimpled at her. Mrs. Weasley smiled with just as much warmth, nothing the physical contact between her and Harry’s arm.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Would that be your uncle?" Andromeda suddenly popped up, nodding to somewhere off she was staring to. “Hello, love.” She pulled Harry into a hug, better than any hug ever, and smiled down on him. “Less than a month, then I’ll pick you up as soon as possible.” She ruffled his hair. She took Molly’s greeting and handshake, with a, “Nice to see you again, Molly, how are Bill and Charlie?” She seemed very happy with herself and so did Tonks, who fist bumped Harry.

“What color room you want?”

“Doesn’t really matter,”

“Right. I’m going to paint your room with band posters, it’ll be brilliant,” She grinned. Andromeda cast her a disapproving look but smiled nonetheless,

“Your family should not be kept waiting, should they?” Andromeda asked when Uncle Vernon approached them,

“Ready, are you?”

It was still Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon but then faltered his scold when he saw his godmother’s Auror uniform—it looked a lot like a military chest jacket and a police cuff, no wonder why he looked intimidated, though she had her hair pulled onto her shoulder and an air of ease around her. But then again, the excited looking pink-haired Tonks and the very tall and slightly heavy chested Ted Tonks was probably not helping. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He walked away.

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione and Rose.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Just three weeks, and you’ll be free to a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

“Send me an owl should they bother you too much—we can definitely cause a little destruction with a little magic.” Rose winked.

“But we aren’t allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts.” He said, but wondered where this was going.

She blushed, “Did I not mention? I have a bit of non-wand magic.”

Hermione gasped, “You are very bad at telling us things! You must come this summer and explain it to me, I don’t care how but you must!” They laughed like girls and hugged and over her shoulder, she spotted Draco with their mother and father. They were both staring at her. Her smile did not falter in Hermione’s scent of lemons.

"No need," Harry said, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face as Rose hugged him tight too. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer...."

Rose squeezed him, burying her head into his shoulder. His hands wrapped around her and she found a great comfort in him. She caught Dora’s twinkling smile and she stuck her tongue out at her, glad her family couldn’t see her.

Rose finally let go of Harry, both of them flushing and grinning and they smiled at each other, “Write to me, Potter.”

“Will do, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay....  
> !) I hope you guys like the route i took with the Tonks. They will have a bigger role in the series with a more direct line to the characters, being Harry's godmother, Hermione's literal hero (Gilderoy who?), Rose's favorite aunt and role model and Ron's family's friend (being as Tonks is going to be best friend friends with Charlie and Bill). 
> 
> 2) Harry and Rose are going to end up together, its obvious from now from just lingerie smiles. Harry doesn't realize it but its in this book he develops a cute little crush on her. She's more comfortable with him than she realizes, being as she let him see her with her hair down, and being as she grew up in a somewhat old fashioned household, its a big deal for her. She always has her hair down, has anyone noticed? It's only a few times where her hair is down and her hair being down in front of specific people will be symbolic--you'll see this in the next book, which will be up soon enough, i hope. 
> 
> But yes, Harry and Rose have a toned bond, strange but significant. Hope you give me your thoughts on them and what you all want to see of them, and what harry will do when he figures out his crush? They are kids, obviously, and i am not pushing any relationship type on them but they are so cute to me in my head before they both seriously crush on each other, so let me know your thoughts on them :)
> 
> 3) As i mentioned, next book will be up this week, before Friday, and updates will be more regular. I hope--i pray lol, 
> 
> Let me know what you all thought of this and how i can improve my writing in the future with the next book! Love you and thank you all for the support and for the time you took to read my Rose's story!


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